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From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,-
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;—
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine

Which slopes to the western gleams:
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,

In murmurs as soft as sleep;

The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.

Then Alpheus bold,

On his glacier cold,

With his trident the mountains strook

And opened a chasm

In the rocks-with the spasm

All Erymanthus shook.

And the black south wind

It concealed behind

The urns of the silent snow,

And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder

The bars of the springs below.
The beard and the hair
Of the River-god were

Seen through the torrent's sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph's flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

"Ob, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,

For he grasps me now by the hair!"
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;

And under the water

The Earth's white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;

Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended

With the brackish Dorian stream:-
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,—

As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin

Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

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FROM the forests and highlands
We come, we come;

From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb

Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes,

The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.

The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and


To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow
Were silent with love, as you now,

With envy of my sweet pipings.

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dædal Earth, And of Heaven-and the giant wars, And Love, and Death, and Birth,And then I changed my pipings,

Singing how down the vale of Menalus I pursued a maiden and clasp'd a reed : Gods and men, we are all deluded thus! It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed :

All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood, At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 1820. 1824.

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Green cowbind and the moonlight

colored May,

And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine

Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day;

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;

And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,

Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.

And nearer to the river's trembling edge, There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white,

And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,

Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge

With moonlight beams of their own watery light;

And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep


As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a


That the same hues, which in their natural bowers

Were mingled or opposed, the like


Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours

Within my hand,-and then, elate and gay,

I hastened to the spot whence I had


That I might there present it!--oh! to whom? 1820. 1822.


RARELY, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false thou hast forgot All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,

Thou with sorrow art dismayed;

Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure,

Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure,
Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost

Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

I love tranquil solitude,

And such society

As is quiet, wise, and good;
Between thee and me

What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love-though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee-

Thou art love and life! Oh come,
Make once more my heart thy home.

1820.1 1824.


ART thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,

And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? 1820. 1824.

1 Though included by Mrs. Shelley, and by later editors, among the poems of 1821, there is a copy of this poem in the Harvard College Manuscripts, dated in Shelley's handwriting," Pisa, May, 1820." See note in Edward Dowden's Edition of Shelley.

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Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,

Veiling beneath that radiant form of Woman

All that is insupportable in thee

Of light, and love, and immortality! Sweet Benediction in the eternal Čurse! Veiled Glory of this lampless Universe! Thou Moon beyond the clouds! Thou living Form

Among the Dead! Thou Star above the Storm!

Thou Wonder, and thou Beauty, and thou Terror!

Thou Harmony of Nature's art! Thou Mirror

In whom, as in the splendor of the Sun, All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on!

Ay, even the dim words which obscure

thee now

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not in the moving Heavens, alone?

A smile amid dark frowns? a gentle tone

Amid rude voices? a beloved light?
A Solitude, a Refuge, a Delight?

A Lute which those whom Love has taught to play

Make music on, to soothe the roughest day

And lull fond grief asleep? a buried treasure?

A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure;

A violet-shrouded grave of Woe?-I


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Scarce visible from extreme loveliness. Warm fragrance seems to fall from her light dress

And her loose hair; and where some heavy tress

The air of her own speed has disentwined, The sweetness seems to satiate the faint wind;

And in the soul a wild odor is felt, Beyond the sense, like fiery dews that melt

Into the bosom of a frozen bud.— See where she stands! a mortal shape indued

With love and life and light and deity, And motion which may change but cannot die;

An image of some bright Eternity;
A shadow of some golden dream; a

Leaving the third sphere pilotless; a tender

Reflection of the eternal Moon of Love Under whose motions life's dull billows move;

A Metaphor of Spring and Youth and Morning;

A Vision like incarnate April, warning, With smiles and tears, Frost the Anatomy

Into his summer grave.

Ah, woe is me! What have I dared? where am I lifted ? how

Shall I descend, and perish not? I know That Love makes all things equal: I have heard

By mine own heart this joyous truth averred:

The spirit of the worm beneath the sod In love and worship, blends itself with God.

Spouse! Sister! Angel! Pilot of the Fate

Whose course has been so starless! Oh, too late

Beloved! Oh, too soon adored, by me! For in the fields of immortality

My spirit should at first have worshipped thine,

A divine presence in a place divine; Or should have moved beside it on this earth,

A shadow of that substance, from its birth;

But not as now :-I love thee; yes, I feel That on the fountain of my heart a seal

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