Leading the infantine moon, And that one star, which to her Half the crimson light she brings 325 (Which like wingéd winds had borne, To that silent isle, which lies Other flowering isles must be To some calm and blooming cove, 335 340 345 To our healing paradise But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, 355 And the winds whose wings rain balm 360 On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves; In their whisperings musical The inspiréd soul supplies With its own deep melodies, And the love which heals all strife, 365 They, not it, would change; and soon 370 Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Like many a voice of one delight, 5 I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown; Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown; The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, 10 15 How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth 20 The sage in meditation found, 25 And walked with inward glory crowned,Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround; Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, Which I have borne, and yet must bear, 30 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 35 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; 40 - for I am one They might lament Whom men love not and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, 44 Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. December, 1818. LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR I ARISE from dreams of thee The wandering airs they faint 5 10 O! press it close to thine again, LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY THE fountains mingle with the river, Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; And the moonbeams kiss the sea: 1819. SONG - TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND MEN of England, wherefore plough Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, 5 10 15 5 |