PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY,

Born 1792, died 1822.

THE QUESTION.

I DREAM'D that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring,
And gentle odours led my steps astray,

Mix'd with the sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay

Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling

Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kiss'd it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets,

Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth,

The constellated flower that never sets;

Faint ox-lips; tender blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,

Green cow-bind, and the moonlight-colour'd May, And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day;

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine,

With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold, Fairer than any waken'd 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 green
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

Methought that of these visionary flowers

I made a nosegay, bound in such a way

That the same hues which, in their natural bowers,
Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours
Within my hand,-and then, elate and gay,
I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come,
That I might there present it!-Oh! to whom?

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:

I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet

Has led me who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odours fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,

It dies upon her heart,
As I must on thine,

Beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas !

My heart beats loud and fast,
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.

ON A FADED VIOLET.

THE odour from the flower is gone,

Which, like thy kisses, breathed on me ;

The colour from the flower is flown,

Which glow'd of thee, and only thee!

A shrivell'd, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandon'd breast,
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.

I weep-my tears revive it not!

I sigh-it breathes no more on me; Its mute and uncomplaining lot

Is such as mine should be.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

*

SEE the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven,
If it disdain'd its brother:
And the sun-light clasps the earth,
And the moon-beams kiss the sea,
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

ΤΟ

MUSIC, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory-

Odours, when sweet violets sicken,

Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

FRAGMENT.

THOU art the wine whose drunkenness is all
We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall,
Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls
Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew;-
Thou art the radiance which, where ocean rolls,
Investeth it; and when the heavens are blue
Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair,
The shadows of thy moving wings imbue

Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear
Beauty like some bright robe;-thou ever soarest
Among the towers of men; and as soft air
In spring, which moves the unawaken'd forest,
Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak,
Thou floatest among men; and, aye, implorest
That which from thee they should implore :-the weak
Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts

The strong have broken-yet, where shall any seek
A garment whom thou clothest not?