POEMS OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

STANZAS - APRIL, 1814

AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even : Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness

soon,

And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.

Pause not the time is past! Every voice cries,

Away!

5

Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle

mood:

Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat

thy stay:

Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth;

10

Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and

come,

And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head,

The blooms of dewy Spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:

But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that

binds the dead,

15

Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may meet.

The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own

repose,

For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep;

Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows;

Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep.

20

Thou in the grave shalt rest yet, till the phantoms flee

Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,

Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings, are not free

From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile.

TO COLERIDGE

ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ

O, there are spirits in the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair

As starbeams among twilight trees:

Such lovely ministers to meet

Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,

Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

5

10

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another's wealth;

- tame sacrifice

To a fond faith! Still dost thou pine? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,

Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?

Did thine own mind afford no scope

Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?

That natural scenes or human smiles

Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled

Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted ;
The glory of the moon is dead;

15

20

25

Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed:

Thine own soul still is true to thee,

But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

30

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase; the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.

Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,

Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

1815.

TO WORDSWORTH

35

POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know

That things depart which never may return; Childhood and youth, friendship, and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.

These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,
Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore:
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar :
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude;
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty;
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,

Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

1815.

5

10

A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD

LECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE

THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray;
And pallid evening twines its beaming hair

In duskier braids around the languid eyes of day. Silence and twilight, unbeloved of men,

Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.

They breathe their spells towards the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;

5

Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. 10 The winds are still, or the dry church tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.

Thou too, aërial Pile, whose pinnacles

Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obey'st in silence their sweet solemn spells,

15

Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire,