***

EVENING.

TO HARRIET.

[Published by Dowden, “Life of Shelley”, 1887.  Composed July 31, 1813.]

O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line
Of western distance that sublime descendest,
And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline,
Thy million hues to every vapour lendest,
And, over cobweb lawn and grove and stream 5
Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light,
Till calm Earth, with the parting splendour bright,
Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream;
What gazer now with astronomic eye
Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere? 10
Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly
The thoughts of all that makes his passion dear,
And, turning senseless from thy warm caress,—­
Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness.

***

TO IANTHE.

[Published by Dowden, “Life of Shelley”, 1887.  Composed September, 1813.]

I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek,
Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,
Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake;
But more when o’er thy fitful slumber bending 5
Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart,
Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending,
All that thy passive eyes can feel impart: 
More, when some feeble lineaments of her,
Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom, 10
As with deep love I read thy face, recur,—­
More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom;
Dearest when most thy tender traits express
The image of thy mother’s loveliness.

***

SONG FROM THE WANDERING JEW.

[Published as Shelley’s by Medwin, “Life of Shelley”, 1847, 1 page 58.]

See yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast;
It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale—­is fast. 
Paler is yon maiden; 5
Faster is her heart’s decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away.

***

FRAGMENT FROM THE WANDERING JEW.

[Published as Shelley’s by Medwin, “Life of Shelley”, 1847, 1 page 56.]

The Elements respect their Maker’s seal! 
Still Like the scathed pine tree’s height,
Braving the tempests of the night
Have I ’scaped the flickering flame. 
Like the scathed pine, which a monument stands 5
Of faded grandeur, which the brands
Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath;
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
And rears its wild form there. 10,