The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead, As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,

Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,

As still as a brooding dove.

That orbed maiden with white fire laden.
Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like
floor,

By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,

Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,

The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,

Are each paved with the moon and these.

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores :

I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain,

The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams,

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a
ghost from the tomb,

I arise and unbuild it again.

1820. 1820.

✓ TO A SKYLARK

HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert,

That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are brightning,
Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of heaven,

In the broad daylight

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows

Of that silver sphere,

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear,

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air With thy voice is loud,

The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and waves,

To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow
Were silent with love, as you now,
Apollo,

With envy of my sweet pipings.

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dædal Earth, And of Heaven-and the giant wars, And Love, and Death, and Birth,— And then I changed my pipings,

Singing how down the vale of Menalus I pursued a maiden and clasp'd a reed: Gods and men, we are all deluded thus! It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:

All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood, At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 1820. 1824.

Green cowbind and the moonlight

colored May,

And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine

Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day;

And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;

And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,

Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.

And nearer to the river's trembling edge, There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white,

And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,

Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge

With moonlight beams of their own watery light;

And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf.

Thou with sorrow art dismayed;

Even the sighs of grief

Reproach thee, that thou art not near,

And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure,

Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure,
Pity then will cut away

Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;

I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Every thing almost
Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

THE WORLD'S WANDERERS

TELL me, thou star, whose wings of light Speed thee in thy fiery flight,

In what cavern of the night

Will thy pinions close now?

Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way, In what depth of night or day Seekest thou repose now?

Weary wind, who wanderest Like the world's rejected guest, Hast thou still some secret nest On the tree or billow?

1820. 1824.

TIME LONG PAST

LIKE the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.

A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,

Was Time long past.

There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:

And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last-
That Time long past.

There is regret, almost remorse,

For Time long past.

'Tis like a child's beloved corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast

From Time long past.
18.20. 1824.

EPIPSYCHIDION

VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE NOBLE AND
UNFORTUNATE LADY, EMILIA V-
NOW IMPRISONED IN THE CONVENT
OF

L'anima amante si slancia fuori del creato, e si crea nel infinito un Mondo tutto per essa, diverso assai da questo oscuro e pauroso baratro. HER OWN WORDS.

SWEET Spirit! Sister of that orphan

one,

Whose empire is the name thou weepest

on,

In my heart's temple I suspend to thee These Votive wreaths of withered

memory.