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 Odor of a rose: light of a star:
The essence of a flame blown on by wind,
That lights and warms all near it, bland and kind,
But aye consumes itself, as though at war
With what supports and feeds it;—from afar
It draws its life, but evermore inclined...