LII.

The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,

Stains the white radiance of Eternity,

Until Death tramples it to fragments. - Die,

If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!
Follow where all is fled! Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII.

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!
A light is past from the revolving year,

And man, and woman; and what still is dear
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near;
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,

No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

LIV.

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which, through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

460

465

470

475

480

485

LV.

The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given ;
The massy earth and spherèd skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar :

Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.

NOR happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,

Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame,

Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery

Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be,
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne.
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.

490

495

In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;
And I, who thought

This Aziola was some tedious woman,

I felt to know that it was nothing human,

No mockery of myself to fear or hate :

And Mary saw my soul,

And laughed, and said, "Disquiet yourself not; 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl."

II.

Sad Aziola! many an eventide

Thy music I had heard.

By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side,
And fields and marshes wide,

15

Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,

OH, world! oh, life! oh, time!

On whose last steps I climb

Trembling at that where I had stood before;

20

When will return the glory of your prime?

No more-O, never more!

Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight;

II.

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more - O, never more!

REMEMBRANCE.

I.

SWIFTER far than summer's flight -
Swifter far than youth's delight-
Swifter far than happy night,

Art thou come and gone

As the wood when leaves are shed,
As the night when sleep has fled,
As the heart when joy is dead,
I am left lone, alone.

II.

The swallow summer comes again—
The owlet night resumes his reign-
But the wild-swan youth is fain

To fly with thee, false as thou.
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow ;
Vainly would my winter borrow

Sunny leaves from any bough.

5

IO

III.

Lilies for a bridal bed-
Roses for a matron's head-
Violets for a maiden dead

Pansies let my flowers be:

On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear-

Let no friend, however dear,

Waste one hope, one fear for me.

1821.

TO-MORROW.

WHERE art thou, beloved To-morrow?
When young and old and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,

Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,

In thy place-ah! well-a-day!

We find the thing we fled-To-day.

1821.

LINES.

If I walk in Autumn's even

While the dead leaves pass,

If I look on Spring's soft heaven,-
Something is not there which was.
Winter's wondrous frost and snow,
Summer's clouds, where are they now?

20

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