at shelley’s birth, The Lark, dawn-spirit, with an anthem loud Rose from the dusky earth To tell it to the Cloud, That, like a flower night-folded in the gloom, Burst into morning bloom. At Shelley’s death, The Sea, that deemed him an immortal, saw A god’s extinguished breath, And landward, as in awe, Upbore him to the altar whence he came, And the rekindling flame.
Whence, O fragrant form of light, Hast thou drifted through the night, Swanlike, to a leafy nest, On the restless waves, at rest? Art thou from the snowy zone Of a mountain-summit blown, Or the blossom of a dream, Fashioned in the foamy stream? Nay,—methinks the maiden moon, When the daylight...
No more the battle or the chase The phantom tribes pursue, But each in its accustomed place The Autumn hails anew: And still from solemn councils set On every hill and plain, The smoke of many a calumet Ascends to heaven again.
The bubble why should I stay? Nor seed nor fruit have I. But, sprung at once to beauty’s perfect round, Nor loss, nor gain, nor change in me is found,— A life—complete in death—complete to die. BECALMED THE BAR is crossed; but Death—the pilot—stands In seeming doubt before the tranquil...
I long, long before the Babe could speak, When he would kiss his mother’s cheek And to her bosom press, The brightest angels standing near Would turn away to hide a tear— For they are motherless. II WHERE were ye, Birds, that bless His name, When wingless to the world He came, And...
Godlike beneath his grave divinities, The last of all their worshippers, he stood. The shadows of a vanished multitude Enwound him, and their voices in the breeze Made murmur, while the meditative trees Reared of their strong fraternal branches rude A temple meet for prayer. What blossoms...
