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In the golden lightning

Like a rose embowered Of the sunken sun,

In its own green leaves, O'er which clouds are brightning,

By warm winds deflowered, Thou dost float and run;

Till the scent it gives Like an unbodied joy whose race is just Makes faint with too much sweet these begun.

heavy-winged thieves: The pale purple even

Sound of vernal showers Melts around thy flight;

On the twinkling grass, Like a star of heaven,

Rain-awakened flowers, In the broad daylight

All that ever was Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music delight,

doth surpass : Keen as are the arrows

Teach us, sprite or bird, Of that silver sphere,

What sweet thoughts are thine: Whose intense lamp narrows

I have never heard In the white dawn clear,

Praise of love or wine Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. That panted forth a flood of rapture so

divine. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud,

Chorus Hymeneal, As, when night is bare,

Or triumphal chant, From one lonely cloud

Matched with thine would be all The moon rains out her beams, and heaven

But an empty vaunt, is overflowed.

A thing wherein we feel there is some

hidden want. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee?

What objects are the fountains From rainbow clouds there flow not

Of thy happy strain ? Drops so bright to see,

What fields, or waves, or mountains? As from thy presence showers a rain of

What shapes of sky or plain? melody.

What love of thine own kind? what ig

norance of pain? Like a poet hidden

With thy clear keen joyance
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,

Languor cannot be:
Till the world is wrought

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee: To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad

satiety. Like a high-born maiden

Waking or asleep, In a palace-tower,

Thou of death must deem Soothing her love-laden

Things more true and deep Soul in secret hour

Than we mortals dream, With music sweet as love, which over

Or how could thy notes flow in such a flows her bower:

crystal stream? Like a glow-worm golden

We look before and after, In a dell of dew,

And pine for what is not : Scattering unbeholden

Our sincerest laughter Its aërial hue

With some pain is fraught; Among the flowers and grass, which screen Our sweetest songs are those that tell of it from the view :

saddest thought.

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O WORLD! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb
Trembling at that where I had stood

before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more

Oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter

hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with

delight No more

Oh, never more!


SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night!
Out of thy misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,

Swift be thy flight!
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star-inwrought! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land Touching all with thine opiate wand

Come, long sought! When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,

Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? — And I replied,

No, not thee!

I WEEP for Adonais he is dead!
Oh weep

for Adonais ! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear

a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure

compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow! Say:

“With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!" Where wert thou mighty Mother, when

he lay, When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft

which flies In darkness? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died? With veilèd eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamoured

breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies With which, like flowers that mock the

corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk

of death.

A grave

Oh weep for Adonais he is dead!

Most musical of mourners, weep anew! Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the weep!

last, Yet wherefore? Quench within their The bloom, whose petals nipt before burning bed

they blew Thy fiery tears, and let thy lov'd heart Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; keep,

The broken lily lies — the storm is overLike his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;

past. For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend; — oh, dream not that the am- To that high Capital, where kingly Death orous Deep

Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, Will yet restore him to the vital air; He came; and bought, with price of Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs

purest breath, at our despair.

among the

eternal. Come

away! Most musical of mourners, weep again, Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Lament anew, Urania ! He died,

Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while stili Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's Awake him not ! surely he takes his fill pride,

Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill. The priest, the slave, and the liberticide, Trampled and mocked with many a He will awake no more, oh, never more! loathèd rite

Within the twilight chamber spreads apace Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified, The shadow of white Death, and at the Into the gulf of death; but his clear

door Sprite

Invisible Corruption waits to trace Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among His extreme way to her dim dwellingthe sons of light.


The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Most musical of mourners, weep anew! Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to Not all to that bright station dared to

deface climb;

So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law And happier they their happiness who Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal knew,

curtain draw. Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time

Oh weep for Adonais ! — The quick In which suns perished; others more

Dreams, sublime,

The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Who were his flocks, whom near the living Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent

streams prime;

Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he And some yet live, treading the thorny road,

taught Which leads, through toil and hate, to The love which was its music, wander Fame's serene abode.

Wander no more, from kindling brain to But now, thy youngest, dea

brain, perished,

But droop there, whence they sprung; The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, and mourn their lot Like a pale flower by some sad maiden Round the cold heart, where, after their cherished,

sweet pain, And fed with true love tears, instead of They ne'er will gather strength, or find


one has

a home again,


And one with trembling hands clasps

his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings,

and cries; “Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not

dead; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from

his brain." Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no

stain She faded, like a cloud which had out

wept its rain.

And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,
And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by

the gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp; — the moving pomp

might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal



All he had loved, and moulded into

thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and

sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watchtower, and her hair

unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn

the ground, Dimmed the aërial eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing

in their dismay.

One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs as if embalming

them; Another clipt her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls be

gem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more

weak; And dull the barbèd fire against his frozen


Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth, whence it was wont to draw

the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the

guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp

death Quenched its caress upon his icy lips; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapor, which the cold night

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless moun

tains, And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or foun

tains, Or amorous birds perched on the young

green spray, Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear Than those for whose disdain she pined

away Into a shadow of all sounds :

a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the

woodmen hear.


It flushed through his pale limbs, and

passed to its eclipse.

And others came Desires and Adora

tions, Wingèd Persuasions and veiled Destinies, Splendrous and Glooms, and glimmering

Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phan


Grief made the young Spring wild, and

she threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is

flown For whom should she have waked the

sullen year? To Phæbus was not Hyacinth so dear Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou Adonais: wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odour, to

sighing ruth.

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Meet massed in death, who lends what

life must borrow. As long as skies are blue, and fields are

green, Evening must usher night, night urge

the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year

wake year to sorrow.

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Through wood and stream and field and

hill and Ocean A quickening life from the Earth's heart

has burst As it has ever done, with change and

motion, From the great morning of the world

when first God dawned on Chaos; in its stream im

mersed The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer

light; All baser things pant with life's sacred

thirst; Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's

delight, The beauty and the joy of their renewed


He will awake no more, oh, never more! "Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless

Mother, rise Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's

core, A wound more fierce than his with tears

and sighs." And all the Dreams that watched Urania's

eyes, And all the Echoes whom their sister's

song Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!” Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory

stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splen

dour sprung

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