{"1": {"fulltext": "PR\\n5403", "height": "2745", "width": "1856", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "p\\n1\\nv.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^o\\n0^\\nf .\\\\V\\nH\\n,0 O\\n.v^\\n^A y\\nOo\\nc5 c^\\nV\\no\\n,0\\nc-\\no\\n.0^\\nJ.\\n..v^^\\nf^\\nv^\\n.\\\\0 e..\\nc^\\ns-\\nA\\n-S^\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2X\\nV\\n^A V\\nx^^^.\\noH\\n\\\\0^^.", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "(I 1 V,\\ny\\no.\\nOO\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0V\\n,0o\\n.jK^^A^^-^ ^^V\\n.0 0^\\nx^o,.\\n.0\\nxQ", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2500", "width": "1654", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2510", "width": "1695", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "POEMS FROM SHELLEY AND KEATS", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "iiflacmillan s pocket Eiifllisl) Classics.\\nA Series of English Texts, edited for use in Secondary\\nSchools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.\\nl6mo. Levanteen. 25c. each.\\nAddison s Sir Roger de Coverley.\\nBrowning s Shorter Poems.\\nBurke s Speech on Conciliation.\\nByron s Childe Harold s Pilgrimage.\\nCarlyle s Essay on Burns.\\nColeridge s The Ancient Mariner.\\nCooper s The Last of the Mohicans.\\nDe Quincey s Confessions of an Opium-Eater.\\nDryden s Palamon and Arcite.\\nEliot s Silas Marner.\\nGoldsmith s The Vicar of Wakefield.\\nIrving s The Alhambra.\\nLongfellow s Evangeline.\\nLowell s The Vision of Sir Launfal.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Addison.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Milton.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Warren Hastings.\\nMilton s Comus, Lycidas, and Other Poems.\\nMilton s Paradise Lost, Books I and H.\\nPope s Homer s Iliad.\\nRuskin s Sesame and Lilies.\\nScott s Ivanhoe.\\nScott s The Lady of the Lake.\\nScott s Marm on.\\nShakespeare s Julius Caesar.\\nShakespeare s Macbeth.\\nShakespeare s The Merchant of Venice.\\nShelley and Keats: Poems.\\nTennyson s The Idylls of the King.\\nTennyson s The Princess.\\nOTHERS TO FOLLOW.", "height": "2510", "width": "1648", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "M", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "v^", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "POEMS FROM SHELLEY\\n^:ts\\nW KEi\\nITS\\nSELECTED AND EDITED\\nBY\\nSIDNEY\\nCARLETON\\nNEWSOM\\nTEACHER OF ENGLISH IN THE MANUAL TRAINING\\nHIGH SCHOOL, INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA\\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\\nLONDON: MACMILLAN CO., Ltd.\\n1900\\nAll rights reserved", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "libPWTT of Con$rre\u00c2\u00ab\u00c2\u00ab\\nTwo Copies Received\\nAUG 171900\\nCeiiyright tnUy\\nSECOND copy,\\nORDER DIVISIO\\n8024^*^-^^\\nvn\\n\u00c2\u00abi\\nCOPYEIQHT, 1900,\\nBy the MACMILLAN COMPANY.\\nJ. S. Cushing Co. Berwick Smith\\nNorwood Mas*. U.S.A.", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "PREFATORY NOTE\\nThe joint committee on English requirements for\\nadmission to college recommends, among other sup-\\nplementary readings, selections from the poetry of\\nShelley and Keats. The present volume includes,\\nit is hoped, all the more popular poems of these two\\nauthors. Opportunity for choice is thereby given,\\nsince the length of time ordinarily devoted to litera-\\nture in the high school will make it impossible to\\nread all of the selections.\\nPoems of Shelley and Keats, judiciously chosen,\\nare admirably suited to the needs of the high school\\npupil. Both wrote when young, and their poetry\\nembodies ideas with which young people must always\\nbe in lively sympathy.\\nIn the introduction it has been the aim to furnish\\nonly such information and suggestions as are easily\\nwithin the comprehension of the average pupil. For-\\nmal criticism should be dealt with sparingly in the", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "vi PREFATORY NOTE\\nhigh school, yet it does not seem advisable to ignore\\nit entirely. When possible the notes have been\\nwritten in the form of questions. There are instances,\\nhowever, in which a direct statement of facts is neces-\\nsary, though in the case of Shelley and Keats these\\ninstances are comparatively rare.\\nInconsistencies in spelling have been emended,\\notherwise the texts followed are those of Dowden\\nand Forman. The poems are not arranged in chrono-\\nlogical order.\\nThe chief sources from which information has been\\ndrawn in preparing this volume are given under Bib-\\nliography, though special mention should be made of\\nthe Essays of Hutton, Bagehot, Arnold, and Dowden;\\nand of the Life of Keats by Colvin.\\nS. C. N.\\nIndianapolis,\\nJune, 1900.", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\n1. Prefatory Note\\n2.\\n3.\\nIntroduction\\nLife of Shelley\\nShelley as a Poet\\nBibliography\\nLife of Keats\\nKeats as a Poet\\nBibliography\\n2.\\n3.\\n4.\\n6.\\n6.\\n7.\\n8.\\n9.\\n10.\\n11.\\nPoems from Shelley\\n1. To a Skylark\\nThe Cloud\\nOde to the West Wind\\nWith a Guitar, to Jane\\nSonnet, Lift not the Painted Veil\\nSonnet, England in 1819\\nSong to the Men of England\\nThe Sensitive Plant\\nTo Wordsworth\\nTo Coleridge\\nMont Blanc\\nvu\\nPAGE\\nV\\nXI\\nxxlx\\nxl\\nxli\\n1\\nIv\\n1\\n6\\n10\\n14\\n17\\n18\\n19\\n21\\n36\\n37\\n38", "height": "2505", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "Vlll\\nCONTENTS\\n12. Hymn to Intellectual Beauty\\n13. To Constantia, singing\\n14. Hymn of Apollo\\n15. Hymn of Pan\\n16. Arethusa\\n17. Song of Proserpine (while gathering flowers on\\nthe plain of Enna)\\n18. Song: Rarely, rarely comest thou\\n19. To Music, when soft voices die\\n20. Lines written among the Euganean Hills\\n21. Ozymandias\\n22. Lines The cold earth slept below\\n23. The World s Wanderers\\n24. A Summer Evening Churchyard, Lechlade\\nGlouc^tershire\\n25. Time\\n26. To Night\\n27. A Lament\\n28. Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples\\n29. A Voice in the Air singing Extracts from Pro-\\n30. Asia answers J metheus Unbound\\n31. Adonais\\n4. Poems from Keats\\n1. Ode to a Nightingale\\n2. Ode on a Grecian Urn\\n3. Ode to Psyche\\n4. To Autumn\\n5. Ode on Melancholy", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nIX\\n6. Fancy\\n7. La Belle Dame sans Merci\\n8. O Solitude if I must with thee dwell\\n9. On First Looking into Chapman s Homer\\n10. Sonnet on the Sea\\nIL Two Sonnets on Fame\\n12. Sonnet to Sleep\\n13. Sonnet to Homer\\n14. Opening Lines from Endymion\\n15. I stood Tip- toe upon a Little Hill\\n16. Lsabella or, the Pot of Basil\\n17. The Eve of St. Agnes\\nNotes\\n1. To the Poems from Shelley\\n2. To the Poems from Keats\\nPAGE\\n132\\n136\\n139\\n139\\n140\\n141\\n142\\n143\\n144\\n146\\n156\\n182\\n201\\n213\\nIndex to Notes\\n219", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nLIFE OF SHELLEY\\nPercy Bysshe Shelley was born in 1792. His\\nfamily was an old one, reaching back throngh a long\\nline of ancestors to Henry Shelley of Worniinghurst,\\nSussex, who died in 1623. Some authorities find mem-\\nbers of the family present at the Norman Conquest;\\nothers, less easily pleased, mention Henry Shelley, an\\nofficer in the court of Henry VII, as a notable repre-\\nsentative. The record is perfectly clear so far back as\\n1623; beyond this there is some confusion.\\nSir Bysshe Shelley, the poet s grandfather, was the\\nfirst member of his own branch of the family to\\nachieve distinction. He was born in Newark, New\\nJersey, North America, married twice before he was\\nforty years of age, amassed a great fortune, and died\\nin 1806, a crabbed, penurious old man. Timothy, the\\nonly son, succeeded to his father s title and estates,\\nbut did not inherit the dash and charm nor other\\nstriking qualities which made Sir Bysshe in his youth\\nxi", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "XU INTRODUCTION\\nand early manhood an interesting character. Indeed,\\nthere was nothing to distinguish Timothy Shelley\\nfrom the rank and file of the somewhat stolid and com-\\nplacent squirearchy of the latter half of the eighteenth\\ncentury. Mrs. Shelley, whom he married in 1791, was\\na lady of unusual beauty, not especially interested in\\nbooks, though a good letter-writer. She appears to\\nhave been sensible and kindly, and, though possessed\\nof a rather violent temper, not inconsiderate of her\\nchildren. Shelley was the oldest in a family of six,\\ntwo boys and four girls.\\nAt the age of six, under a Welsh parson who taught\\nhim chiefly Latin, Shelley s education was begun.\\nFour years later he entered Sion House Academy,\\nnear Brentford, where the head master. Dr. Greenlaw,\\nsuperintended the instruction of fifty or sixty boys in\\nLatin, Greek, French, and the elements of astronomy.\\nAfter two years here he went to Eton and thence, in\\n1810, at the age of eighteen, to Oxford.\\nThe chief account of Shelley s early life at home\\nbefore his entrance at Oxford is given by his younger\\nsister Hellen. The brother John, born in 1806, was\\ntoo young to be a companion, but the four sisters were\\nassociates and eager sympathizers in all his sports and\\nboyish pranks. These were many and curious. A\\ngarret, long closed and unused, was undoubtedly the\\nhabitation of an alchemist, old and gray, with venera-\\nd", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION Xlii\\nble beard, where by lamplight the sage pored over some\\nmagic tome the space above a low passage must\\nbe investigated in search of a mysterious chamber, the\\nlurking-place of some awful secret. The Great\\nTortoise of a neighboring pond and the Great Old\\nSnake that hid in the gardens were subjects of end-\\nless tales of enchantment and terror, at whose recital\\nthe little girls would shudder and Bysshe would\\nassume the attitude of protector. With the aid of his\\nsisters he sometimes sought to give concrete form to\\nhis imaginary world. They became a crew of super-\\nnatural monsters: the little girls in strange garbs\\nwere fiends Bysshe the great devil bearing along\\nthe passage to the back door a fire stove flaming with\\nhis infernal liquids. Occasionally his boyish spirit\\nfound exercise in practical jokes: At one time a\\ncountryman passed the windows of Field Place, with\\na truss of hay forked over his shoulders the intruder\\nwas recalled, and there stood Bysshe, disguised. At\\nanother time a lad called on Colonel Sergison at the\\nHorsham lawyer s house and asked in Sussex dialect to\\nbe engaged as gamekeeper s boy his suit was successful,\\nand then of course there was an explosion of laughter\\nand the jester stood revealed.\\nHis residence at school furnishes a decided contrast\\nto this happy life at home. His progress under his\\nfirst teacher was slow, but at Sion Academy he stood", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "XIV INTBODUCTION\\nm\\nhigh in his classes. He learned, writes Medwin,\\nhis classmate and future biographer, seemingly with]\\nout study, for during his school hours he was won\\nto gaze at the passing clouds all that could be seen\\nfrom the lofty windows which his desk fronted, or\\nwatch the swallows as they flitted past; or would\\nscrawl in his schoolbooks rude drawings of pines and\\ncedars in memory of those on the lawn of his native\\nhome. Experimental science was not included in the\\ncurriculum, but an instructor who lectured on science\\nat Eton gave occasional talks and experiments at the\\nacademy. Shelley became intensely interested. His\\nlessons in astronomy had taught him the wonderful\\nscope of the universe, and now the microscope would,\\nhe hoped, disclose the no less wonderful secrets of\\nanimal life.\\nIf his tasks were done with little difficulty, his\\ndaily associations with his schoolfellows presented\\nproblems not so easily solved. Erom the first he was\\nan alien. No regular system of fagging was organized\\nat the academy, but Shelley seems to have offered oppor-\\ntunities not to be thrown away. He had little in com-\\nmon with his classmates, and with the quick intuition\\nof boys they detected the fact, which, indeed, Shelley\\nhimself did not know how, or think necessary, to con-\\nceal. They discovered, however, that upon occasion\\nit would be well to avoid him. Driven to desperation\\nf", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XV\\nby their brutal tricks, in a frenzy lie would seize for\\na weapon whatever object lay nearest him.\\nAt Eton fagging was reduced to a system and\\nShelley s difficulties were multiplied. His apparent\\nsingularities once known, he became a butt for every\\nrude jest that boyish ingenuity could invent. His tor-\\nmentors succeeded at times in making him wretched,\\nbut other than this he remained unaffected. He was\\nindependent to the last.\\nIt would be wrong, however, to conclude that Shel-\\nley s life at Eton was wholly unhappy. There were\\na few from whom he did not hold himself aloof, a\\nfew who were constituted somewhat like himself. One\\nfriend speaks of long rambles and lovely prospects\\nof river and wood, where Milton had paused to view\\nthe towers and battlements of Windsor, bosomed high\\nin tufted trees, or a visit to the picturesque church-\\nyard where Gray is said to have written his Elegy\\nanother mentions his wonder and delight while listen-\\ning to Shelley s marvellous stories of fairy-land, and\\napparitions, and spirits and haunted ground. Many\\nyears afterward Shelley remembered the hours spent\\nthus with congenial companions.\\nThose bottles of warm tea\\n(Give me some straw) must be stowed tenderly\\nSuch as we used, in Summer, after six,\\nTo cram in greatcoat pockets, and to mix", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "XVI INTRODUCTION\\nHard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton,\\nAnd couched on stolen hay in those green harbours\\nFarmers called gaps and we schoolboys called arbours\\nWould feast till eight.\\nIn his studies he did not restrict himself to the\\nprescribed course. Franklin and Godwin among Eng-\\nlish authors, Lucretius and Pliny among the classics,\\nwere read with unusual zest. Interest in science\\nwhich had been aroused at the Academy was now in-\\ntensified. Night, says a schoolfellow, was his\\njubilee. He launched his fire balloons on errands to\\nthe sky, he performed experiments in physics and\\nchemistry, the latter a forbidden subject at Eton, and\\nprepared surprises for his visitors, not excepting his\\ntutor. During vacation at Field Place he became the\\nmaster magician for his sisters and younger friends.\\nHe found endless amusement in teaching them the\\nmysteries of the galvanic battery and the uses of the\\nburning-glass. His work in science did not, as may\\nwell be imagined, extend very far. He was impatient\\nof mathematics, and science interested him chiefly as\\na pleasing recreation and not as a means of strenuous\\ndiscipline.\\nShelley s residence at Oxford continued less than\\na year. His one intimate friend there was Thomas\\nHogg, who has given an interesting though not always\\naccurate account of Shelley s life at college. They", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xvii\\nmet almost on the first day in the dining hall of the\\nUniversity, and the chance acquaintance thus made\\nsoon grew into a warm friendship. His figure,\\nsays Hogg in describing his appearance at this time,\\nwas slight and fragile, and yet his bones and joints\\nwere large and strong. In gesture he was abrupt and\\nsometimes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet\\nmore frequently gentle and graceful. His complex-\\nion was delicate and almost feminine, of the purest\\nred and white yet tanned and freckled by exposure\\nto the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in\\nshooting. His features were not symmetrical\\n(the mouth, perhaps, excepted), yet was the effect of\\nthe whole extremely powerful. They breathed an\\nanimation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid and preter-\\nnatural intelligence that I have never met with in\\nany other countenance. Nor was. the moral expression\\nless beautiful than the intellectual for there was a\\nsoftness, a delicacy, a gentleness, and especially (though\\nthis will surprise many) that air of profound religious\\nveneration that characterizes the best works and chiefly\\nthe frescoes (and into these they infused their whole\\nsouls) of the greatest masters of Florence and Rome.\\nIn many respects the life at Oxford was very pleas-\\ning to Shelley. Its freedom suited him, and he did\\npretty much as he pleased. He was uninterrupted by\\nmischievous boys, and had much time for recreation", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "xviii INTRODUCTION\\nand opportunity for reading not suggested by his\\nteachers. The lectures were not satisfactory and he\\ntook small interest in them but to Hogg he seemed\\na whole University in himself in the enthusiasm\\nwith which he read, and, in turn, stimulated his\\ncompanion. He still gave attention to experimental\\nscience. His room was topsy-turvy with various ap-\\nparatus and materials, but Hogg s indifference and\\noccasional cynicism dampened Shelley s ardor. He\\nwas Shelley s senior by some years, and, there is lit-\\ntle doubt, exercised an abiding, and for a time con-\\ntrolling, influence on him. With quick insight he\\nrecognized his wonderful genius. Though he was too\\nmuch a man of the world to worship blindly, if at all,\\nhis admiration for Shelley was genuine. Himself an\\noccasional writer of poetry and ardent lover of litera-\\nture, he found inspiration and delight in the society\\nof one who surpassed him from every point of view.\\nThe two walked, read, disputed, all but lived together.\\nThe examination of a chapter of Locke s Essay\\nConcerning Human Understanding, declares Hogg,\\nwould induce him at any moment to quit every\\nother pursuit. Hume s Essays, the Scotch metaphy-\\nsicians, and popular French works that treat of man,\\nfor the most part in a mixed method, metaphysically,\\nmorally, and politically, were eagerly discussed, and\\nthe facts and laws therein discovered as eagerly and", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xix\\nearnestly, by Shelley at least, applied to existing\\ninstitutions.\\nUtopias have ever been beloved of idealists; and\\ntheories such as the two found in their reading ap-\\npealed with peculiar force to Shelley. Oxford was\\nthere to furnish a contrast. Blindly subservient to the\\npast, the University offered little to attract a young\\nand ardent spirit, bent on examining every institution\\nin the light of its own worth. And Shelley, in his\\nyouthful enthusiasm, was learning to question. The\\nauthors he had been reading influenced him much;\\nHogg, perhaps, more and Oxford, it can hardly be\\ndoubted, offered a silent challenge.\\nSoon after the Christmas holidays there appeared\\nin the Oxford Herald an advertisement of a pamphlet,\\nThe Necessity of Atheism. The pamphlet was pub-\\nlished very shortly after, and copies were distributed\\nthroughout the University. It bore no signature, but\\nShelley was supposed to be the author. He was\\narraigned and questioned by the authorities, but de-\\nclined giving the desired information. Thereupon he\\nwas summarily dismissed the University upon the\\ncharge of contumacy in refusing to answer certain\\nquestions. Hogg, of his own accord, sent a note to\\nthe Master and Fellows, protesting against their\\ncourse. He was summoned and the same questions\\nasked Shelley were addressed to him. Upon his re-\\nfusal to answer, he too was expelled.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "XX INTRODUCTION\\nShelley s offence has been described as the rash act\\nof a boy whose brain was at work, who loved to im-\\npress his own ideas on others, and who enjoyed the\\nexcitement of an intellectual adventure. The fact of\\nhis extreme youthfulness certainly goes far toward\\nexcusing him, but this, and whatever other palliative\\ncircumstances may suggest themselves, did not soften\\nthe punishment which Shelley suffered then and, to\\nsome extent, during his future life. The expulsiou\\nmarks a turning-point in his career. The attitude of\\nhis father, already irritated at his son s eccentricities,\\ntogether with the treatment received at Oxford,\\naroused a spirit of defiance which so far had been\\nlatent. He refused outright to obey his father s com-\\nmands, and proceeded to London in company with\\nHogg. Two of his sisters, who were at school near\\nLondon, supplied him with money, sending it by\\ntheir classmate, a certain Harriet Westbrook.\\nIn the meantime, through the intervention of friends,\\nShelley was given an allowance of \u00c2\u00a3200 a year with\\npermission to choose his place of residence. For\\na time he remained at Field Place, but found the\\nconditions there intolerable. While on a visit to\\nWales he again met Harriet, with whom he had\\nbeen corresponding. The acquaintance, begun a few\\nmonths before, now grew into an intimacy which\\nended in a sudden elopement to Scotland and mar-", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxi\\nriage there August 11, 1811. Shelley was nineteen\\nyears old; his wife, sixteen. Timothy Shelley\\npromptly stopped the allowance upon hearing of his\\nson s marriage, and Mr. Westbrook refused to help\\nthem. Before the end of the year, however, when Shel-\\nley had suffered the inconveniences and anxieties of\\none in debt with no prospect of relief, the allowance\\nwas restored, Mr. Westbrook contributing a like sum.\\nThe remainder of Shelley s life was spent in\\nwandering to and fro. He was drawn to Keswick by\\nhis admiration for Southey, whose principles at an\\nearlier date were now, in a large measure, Shelley s\\nown. Personal acquaintance with Southey does not\\nseem to have increased Shelley s regard. The elder\\npoet had grown conservative, and criticised, too severely\\nperhaps, some of Shelley s plans for reorganizing so-\\nciety. Some months later Shelley addressed a letter\\nto Godwin, whom he had never seen. Your name,\\nhe wrote, I had enrolled in the list of the honorable\\ndead. Upon discovering Godwin s place of abode\\nhe at once communicated with him. A reply came\\npromptly, warning Shelley against his attitude toward\\nhis father and his too eager enthusiasm for reforming\\nthe world.\\nBut Shelley was not to be dissuaded. Accompanied\\nby his wife and sister-in-law, he went to Ireland, where\\nhe might give aid in the struggle for political indepen-", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "XXll INTRODUCTION\\ndence and religious freedom. Six weeks were spent\\nin Dublin. He wrote one or two pamphlets and\\npublished an Address to the Irish People. When he\\nspoke before a great audience met to consider a peti-\\ntion to the Prince E-egent in behalf of Catholic Eman-\\ncipation, it misinterpreted him, applauding and hissing\\nby turns. I am sick of this city, he wrote the\\nspirit of bigotry is high, and prejudices are so\\nviolent, in contradiction to my principles, that more\\nhate me as a freethinker than love me as a votary of\\nfreedom.\\nNot discouraged, he continued in his efforts to\\nemancipate humanity. Upon his return to England,\\nat the small village of Lynmouth on the coast of\\nDevon, in company with a friend, he employed himself\\nin floating boxes and bottles containing copies of his\\npamphlets. Occasionally a balloon was loosened bear-\\ning in its hold A Declaration of Rights. His servant\\nHealy was arrested and imprisoned for posting up\\ncertain seditious notices, and Shelley himself was\\nclosely watched by government detectives.\\nHis efforts to improve the condition of the people,\\nhowever, did not end with the promulgation of abstract\\ntheories. At Tremadoc he exercised himself in vari-\\nous ways to relieve the poor. He visited them in\\ntheir homes, supplying food and medicine, gave money\\nin cases of distress, and generously subscribed \u00c2\u00a3100", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxiii\\ntoward building an embankment whose completion\\nwould infinitely benefit the laboring classes of the\\nneighborhood.\\nHis activities in this direction were not successful.\\nHe removed to London, where he became more or less\\nintimately associated with Hogg, Peacock, Godwin,\\nand Leigh Hunt. The respect and admiration with\\nwhich he regarded Godwin were strengthened by a\\nmore intimate knowledge of that philosopher s ways\\nof thinking. Nor can there be any question as to the\\nwholesomeness of Godwin s influence (more powerful\\nthan any other at any period in moulding Shelley s\\nthought) upon him at this time. He felt the in-\\nadequacy of Shelley s abstract doctrines because he\\nhimself was the medium through which they came.\\nHe advised him to study history, and understand what\\nhad been noble in human character and action, which,\\nhe observed, is perhaps superior to all the theories\\nand speculations that can possibly be formed.\\nAt his mother s request Shelley made a clandestine\\nvisit to Field Place. He had previously addressed a\\nconciliatory letter to his father, hoping that the un-\\nfavorable traits of his character might be condoned,\\nand that the time was not far distant when they\\nmight consider each other as father and son. But\\nTimothy Shelley wished to impose conditions which\\ncould not be borne. Shelley declined to renounce his", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "xxir INTRODUCTION\\nconvictions and accepted in silence his father s refusal\\nof all further communication.\\nIt is not the purpose of this brief account of Shelley\\nto discuss minutely certain vexed questions of his life.\\nBoth his attitude toward his father and his course of\\naction in matters touching yet more directly the purity\\nand manliness of his character have enlisted the ser-\\nvices of those who condemn and those who defend. It\\nis sufficient to state that annoyances and misfortunes\\nat this period made his life wretched. His domestic\\nrelations were unhappy. Extreme generosity to God-\\nwin and others placed him at the mercy of creditors\\nwho harassed him ceaselessly. The death of Sir\\nBysshe Shelley improved the situation in some meas-\\nure, but, as if to offset advantages, entailed a settlement\\nbetween Shelley and his father. Sir Timothy sought\\nto make Shelley s younger brother, John, the heir to\\nthe estate, but certain provisions in the will prevented.\\nNegotiations dragged on interminably, but finally\\nended in a partial settlement, whereby Bysshe re-\\nceived a yearly allowance during his life of i^lOOO.\\nShortly after the death of his wife Shelley married\\nMary, the daughter of Godwin and Mary Wollstone-\\ncraft. The suit with his father still continued, and\\nmade his residence in London necessary. Early in\\n1817, relieved of this, he removed to Marlow, on the\\nThames, a short distance out from the city.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxv\\nThough impaired in health and under the stress of\\na fancied obligation to pay Godwin s debts, he looked\\nback in after years upon the time at Marlow as one of\\nthe happiest periods of his life. Among acquaintances\\nwho visited him may be mentioned Hunt, Peacock,\\nHazlitt, and Keats. Mrs. Shelley, a student and\\nlover of literature hardly less eager than Shelley, was\\nbusily engaged with Frankenstein, which she finished\\nduring the year. Shelley himself read and studied\\nmuch. English authors were not ignored, but the\\nGreek dramatists attracted him more strongly. He\\nbusied himself with a translation of the Homeric\\nHymns, but his most significant work was The Revolt\\nof Islam, his longest poem. Though finding his chief\\npleasure in social intercourse with his chosen friends\\nand in study, he did not forget the poor. He went\\namong them just as he did at Tremadoc, and on Sat-\\nurday evenings came his pensioners for their allow-\\nance, widows and children being preferred to other\\nclaimants.\\nAs winter set in Shelley s health declined. Yielding\\nto the advice of physicians, he decided to seek change\\nof climate in Italy. Accompanied by his family, he\\nsailed early in 1818, sojourned at Milan for two weeks,\\nand settled temporarily at Leghorn about the 1st of\\nMay. Byron, whom Shelley had met in Switzerland\\ntwo years before, he now visited at Venice. Julian and", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "XXvi INTRODUCTION\\nMaddalo is a veiled account of his impressions at this\\ntime of B^a-on, and a description, somewhat colored,\\nof himself. He recognized the great qualities of\\nByron s genius, but detected at once the contempti-\\nble elements in his character. In the course of the\\nnext three years he learned to know Byron Avell, and\\nhis first impressions were strengthened by more inti-\\nmate associations.\\nShelley s life in Italy was nomadic. In England\\nhe had hoped for a permanent home at Marlow, but\\nfor many reasons his wish came to naught. In Italy\\nhis health improved, yet the severe climate during\\nthe winter in the northern portions racked him with\\npain. His place of residence depended largely upon\\nchange of seasons. A spirit of innate restlessness,\\ntoo, developed largely no doubt by his wanderings in\\nEngland, made it impossible for him to remain long\\nin one place. He visited all the more famous Italian\\ncities, writing and studying continually. In 1819,\\nShelley s annus mirabiUs, he finished, at Florence,\\nPrometheus Unbound, begun at Este, a villa near\\nVenice. The Cenci, Mask of Ayiarchy, Peter Bell the\\nThird, Ode to Naples, Ode to the West Wind, with one\\nor two shorter but exquisite lyrics, complete the list of\\nhis poetical creations for the year, and bear evidence\\nto the unusual vigor of his literary activity.\\nFrom January, 1820, till the close of his life, Shelley", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XXvii\\nresided the greater part of the time at Pisa. Byron\\njoined him there, and the two decided to start a new\\nperiodical, The Liberal. Hunt, who had been ill at\\nhome in England, was asked to be the editor. The\\ncircle of friends was increased during the year by the\\narrival of Trelawny, who had become acquainted with\\nShelley sometime earlier through their common friend,\\nEdward Williams. Trelawny has given an extremely\\ninteresting account of Shelley s last days in his Rec-\\nollectioyis. The three friends were passionately fond\\nof the sea, and it was agreed to spend the summer\\nmonths on the coast of the Bay of Spezzia.\\nIn the meantime Shelley was writing enthusiastic\\nletters to Hunt, urging him to make all haste. Sick-\\nness and other misfortunes made it necessary to fur-\\nnish Hunt with money for the voyage and to provide\\nfor the comfort of himself and family during their\\nfirst days in Italy. On June 19, 1822, the long\\nwished for arrival was announced. In company with\\nWilliams and a boy who should manage the boat, Shel-\\nley sailed for Leghorn, where he met Byron and Hunt.\\nAfter much vacillation on the part of Byron, definite\\narrangements were made for the publication of The\\nLiberal. Among other things Hunt should have the\\ncopyright of The Vision of Judgment for the first num-\\nber, which is more than enough, wrote Shelley, to\\nset up the Journal.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "xxvill INTRODUCTION\\nOn July 8, with his two companions, Shelley started\\non his return voyage across the bay. The weather\\nwas threatening, and Hunt begged him to wait. Ten\\nmiles out the boat was observed by friends in Leghorn,\\nthen a mist and spray thrown up by the thunder-squall\\nhid it from view. The storm passed in twenty minutes,\\nand Trelawny eagerly scanned the horizon, but Shel-\\nley s boat had disappeared. A period of intense anxi-\\nety followed. One week later two bodies were found\\nupon the beach and identified as those of Williams and\\nShelley. In one of Shelley s pockets was found a\\nvolume of Sophocles, in the other, doubled back at the\\nEve of St. Agnes, a volume of Keats s poetry which\\nhad been given him at Leghorn by Hunt. The quar-\\nantine laws of the Italian coast made it necessary, in\\nthe opinion of friends, to burn the remains near the\\nplace where they were discovered. This was done\\nunder the supervision of Trelawny in the presence of\\nCaptain Shenley, an English officer. Hunt, and Byron.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxix\\nSHELLEY AS A POET\\nFrom whatever point of view the reader approaches\\nthe entire body of Shelley s poetry for purposes of\\nstudy, a simple classification is necessary. The series\\nof poems, beginning with Queen Mah, an immature\\nboyish composition, and ending with Hellas, written\\nshortly before his death, embody the views of Shelley\\nthe reformer. The shorter poems disclose, in the main,\\nthe purely sesthetic qualities of Shelley the poet. A\\nbrief discussion of both philosophical and lyrical poems\\nwill be appropriate.\\nIt has been recorded that on August 4, 1792, the\\nday of Shelley s birth, along the roads near Field\\nPlace, the aristocratic emigrants in coaches, in\\nwagons, in fish-carts, were pouring from revolutionary\\nFrance. The coincidence is very suggestive. Shelley\\nwas a firm believer in the principles of the French\\nRevolution, and throughout his life remained a stead-\\nfast supporter of the cause, as he conceived it, of lib-\\nerty. In matters of abstract philosophy and religion\\nhe changed his opinions, and in mature years disowned\\nwith shame Queen Mob, the completest exposition in\\nverse of his early revolutionary ideas. But in politics\\nhe treasured to the last his vision of an ideal state,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "XXX INTRODUCTION\\nwhere love would be the all-sufficient motive, and rea-\\nson the guide to action.\\nHis estimate of the innate qualities of the human\\nmind and heart was high. The prominent feature\\nof Shelley s theory of the destiny of the human\\nspecies, writes Mrs. Shelley, was that evil is not\\ninherent in the system of the creation, but an accident\\nthat might be expelled. He insisted that error and\\nignorance are the ultimate sources of man s sorrow\\nand degradation, and that the race is capable of infi-\\nnite improvement. The chief obstacle, as he saw it, is\\na system of government which permits unscrupulous\\nrulers to oppress and stultify their subjects. The\\nrepresentative system of the Republic of the United\\nStates is sufficiently remote from ideal excellence,\\nyet the most perfect of practical governments, and\\none in which the freedom, happiness, and strength of\\nits people are due to their political institutions. Two\\nconditions, however, demand the most careful consid-\\neration first, the will of the people should be repre-\\nsented as it is secondly, that will should be as wise\\nand just as possible. The fundamental conception of\\nsuch ideal excellence was not original with Shelley.\\nMany writers contributed to his views, Godwin more\\nthan others but the distinct form and imaginative\\n1 Shelley s Philosophical View of Reform, Transcripts and\\nStudies, Dowdeu, pp. 41-74.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxxi\\ncoloring in which these bare abstractions are presented\\nare Shelley s own.\\nPrometheus Unbound is perhaps the most adequate\\nstatement of his hope for the future, as it is certcdnly\\nhis greatest achievement in poetry. It is written in\\nthe form of a lyrical drama, a species of composition\\nin which Shelley imitates the method of the Greek\\ntragedians. There is no attempt at delineation of\\nhuman character, and the abstract ideas which the\\npoem embodies are more or less obscure because of\\nthe cumbrous machinery of allegory. A Greek myth,\\nused by ^Eschylus in Proinetheus Bound, serves with\\nalterations for the general plan of the poem. The\\nfriend of mankind is personified, in the figure of\\nPrometheus, who is chained to a rock and exposed\\nto various evils by Jupiter, the unjust and tyrannous\\nruler of the universe. When Prometheus, defying\\nhis enemy, has suffered centuries of torture, Demo-\\ngorgon, the primal power of the world, drives Jupiter\\nfrom his throne, and Necessity, in the person of Her-\\ncules, delivers Prometheus from his sufferings. Asia,\\nthe wife of Prometheus, represents the spirit of love\\nin the human race. She is now restored to her hus-\\nband, and their union marks the beginning of the\\nGolden Age.\\nShelley s political philosophy did not escape criti-\\ncism during his life. It has been the subject of much", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "XXXll INTRODUCTION\\n1\\ndiscussion since his time. It is at once evident that\\nhis system is impracticable, and that its chief defect\\nsprings from his ignorance of humanity. The insist-\\nence that evil resides wholly in things external and\\nnot in the will of man is warranted neither by history\\nnor by the most casual study of modern states. Such\\nstudy and reflection must inevitably force the conclu-\\nsion that humanity is no chained Titan of indomi-\\ntable virtue, but a weak, trembling thing which yet,\\nthrough error and weakness, traversed or overcome,\\nmay at last grow strong. A republic, which comes\\nnearest Shelley s ideal, is precisely so good from every\\npoint of view as its people. It is neither above nor\\nbelow the standard insisted upon by the majority of\\nvoters. There may be abuses and temporary defeat\\nof the popular will, but in the end it is this that\\nregulates, or rather is, the law. The progress that\\nconcerns us, as has been well said, is that which\\nconsists in working out the beast, and in gradually\\ngrowing to the fulness of the stature of the perfect\\nman. Reforms that are far-reaching and permanent\\nmust begin in work which refines the emotional and\\nintellectual nature of the average man, and not in\\nabstractions which at best only embody his present\\nviews of life.\\nBut is it wise to estimate the value of Prometheus\\n1 Life of Shelley, Dowden, Vol. n., p. 264.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XXXiii\\nUnbound in the light of its fallacies It certainly\\nurges a doctrine that is practically false, but this is\\nonly a partial statement of the truth. Out of Shelley s\\nimperfect and distorted views come other things\\nwhich the world has always treasured. The political\\nprinciples in which he believed gained the sincere\\nadmiration and support of Wordsworth and Coleridge\\nin their earlier days. They, like Shelley, proclaimed\\na Golden Age, but, unlike him, lived long enough to\\nforget their dream and accept the world as it is. No\\npoet has conceived more highly of the possibilities of\\nhuman life nor remained truer to his ideal. Himself\\nof aristocratic family, he was unwilling to accept\\nworldly advantages springing from his position, which\\nwould in his opinion entail an unjust law upon future\\ngenerations.^\\nAt the very heart of his eager enthusiasm for hu-\\nmanity was an abiding love of justice, a love so strong\\nthat the dry abstractions and theories of his long\\nphilosophical poems become radiant in its light.\\nSpringing from this and hardly less pronounced were\\nhis intense sympathy for the oppressed, and his hatred\\nof the oppressor. His belief in the brotherhood of man\\nand his recognition of the responsibility of the state\\nfor the welfare of the individual are firmly established\\niln the settlement with his father he was offered a great fortune\\nupon condition of entailing the estate. Shelley refused.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "XXXI V INTROD UCTION\\n1\\nhisi\\nin the popular mind, just as other tendencies of\\nthought, not so clearly expressed, are distinctly\\nmodern. I never could discern in him, writes\\nHogg, more than two fixed principles. The first was\\na strong, irrepressible love of liberty the second,\\nan equally ardent love of toleration of all opinions;\\nas a deduction and corollary from which latter prin-\\nciple, he felt an intense abhorrence of persecution of\\nevery kind, public or private. His experience at\\nEton in the midst of schoolboy trials doubtless had\\nmuch to do with his views, but one can hardly escape\\nthe impression that his love of liberty was innate\\nand that the radiant splendor of his verse is due to\\nthe depth and earnestness of his convictions.\\nCertain critics, discrediting Shelley s political phi-\\nlosophy as vague and inadequate, are enthusiastic in\\npraise of the lyrical passages scattered throughout his\\nlonger poems. Yet, even in these passages, as well as\\nin nearly all of his purely lyrical verse, one may detect\\nthe author s enthusiasm for humanity. I consider\\npoetry very subordinate to moral and political science,\\nhe writes to Peacock, and if circumstances permitted\\nI would aspire to the latter. It is doubtless true,\\nhowever, that his most enduring work is his short\\npoems, and for reasons already sufficiently indicated.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XXXV\\nLyrical poetry is, in tlie main, the expression of\\npersonal mood or feeling, and the essential qualities\\nof mind of a writer of lyrical poetry are extreme sen-\\nsitiveness, great emotional and imaginative power.\\nShelley possessed each of these qualities in an unusual\\ndegree. Impressions from the outside world, too deli-\\ncate and evanescent for ordinary perceptions, influ-\\nenced him profoundly. I am formed, he declares;,\\nif for anything not in common with the herd of man-\\nkind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of\\nfeeling, whether relative to external nature or the liv-\\ning beings which surround us. The accuracy of this\\nbit of self-analysis is verified over and over again in\\nhis poetry. A brief study of the diction and phrasing\\nin the Sensitive Plant, for instance, shows how fine is\\nhis sensibility. There are quivering vapors of dim\\nnoontide, -music delicate, soft and yet intense,\\nThe tremulous bells of the Naiad like lily and other\\ndescriptions remarkable for their delicate shades and\\nshadows. The ardor with which he responded to\\nthese minute and remote distinctions may seem at\\ntimes to the casual reader out of all proportion to the\\ncircumstances.\\nIt has, in fact, been pointed out that to this impul-\\nsiveness is largely due a characteristic of Shelley s\\npoetry which we have come to regard as a fault. The\\n^Aspects of Poetry, Sliairp, pp. 194-218.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "XXXVi INTRODUCTION\\n11\\nnatural world, as it really is, has little place in his\\npoetry. He catches a glimpse of the landscape, an out-\\nline of the mountain peak, or a momentary gleam of\\nthe sea, and straightway busies himself with his impres-\\nsions. Nature he uses mainly to call from it some\\nof its most delicate tints, some faint hues of the dawn\\nor the sunset clouds, to weave in and color the web of\\nhis abstract dream. Many poets portray nature with\\ngreat faithfulness. The strength and charm of Words-\\nworth s poetry lie in this as much as in anything else.\\nTo many readers, however, Shelley s ideal creations are\\nas dear as Wordsworth s realistic descriptions. The\\ntwo things are different, and each, in its way, is admir-\\nable, and the more delightful for its opposite. We\\nneed to remember that the countless beautiful forms\\nand images in Shelley s poetry, the radiant color in-\\nvesting them, the spontaneity and freedom of his lyric\\nutterance, and the matchless rhythm of his verse, all\\nowe in a large measure their exquisite charm to this\\nimpulsiveness.\\nThe true explanation of his imperfect grasp of the\\nobjects of nature is not far to seek. The cause does\\nnot lie in a weak sensibility, as might at first be in-\\nferred, but in the hot impatience and irritability of\\nhis temperament, as already suggested, joined to an\\nimaginative power rarely equalled in literature. Un-\\nder the influence of a sentiment which would at most", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XXXvii\\nwarm the surface of other poets minds into a genial\\nglow, Shelley s bubbles up from its very depths into\\na sort of pale passion, and seethes with imprisoned\\nthought. What has been explained by critics is\\ncorroborated by Shelley in conversation with Hogg.\\nWhen my brain gets heated with thought, he ob-\\nserved, it soon boils, and throws off images and words\\nfaster than I can skim them off. Such a mind is\\npoorly qualified for precise delineation of the actual\\nfacts of nature. By its very constitution it recoils\\nfrom long-continued observation, and is incapable of\\nholding up its subject for narrow inspection. The\\nemotional and imaginative qualities of mind must\\nwait, to be sure, upon the receptive powers. The ideal\\nworld is ultimately dependent upon the actual world,\\nbut in Shelley s case the dependence is often so remote\\nthat the reader is confused amid the rapid succession of\\nforms and images having so little in common with\\nwhat is visible and tangible about us. For complete\\nunderstanding one must continually seek and find the\\npoet s point of view.\\nThe scope of his imagination is no less wonderful\\nthan its fineness. What can the ordinary person say\\nabout a cloud? some one has asked. In a blunt way\\nthe question forcibly suggests Shelley s power. The\\nmagnificent sweep of his conceptions, when he has\\nchosen some immense element or force of nature for", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "XXXVlll INTRODUCTION\\nhis theme, is in striking contrast to the delicate pre-\\ncision and finish of some of his minor lyrics. Prome-\\ntheus Unbound illustrates this most adequately, but\\none or two shorter poems afford excellent examples\\nHe is often forced in such instances to use his material\\nunder the form of personification or allegory, and one\\nwould expect poetry of this kind to be cold and me-\\nchanical. But Shelley s lyrical force sustains him.\\nWhat would be attenuated and all but lifeless in\\nanother poet, is made to glow under the touch of his\\npassionate inspiration. He is equally at home in mak-\\ning his reader realize the awful grandeur of the bound-\\nless regions of space, and in portraying with nicest\\ntouch the tremulous tints of a summer dawn; and it\\nis rarely the case that any one of his poems does not\\nshow in some degree these two extremes of his imagi-\\nnative range.\\nBriefly, then, the qualities of mind and heart which\\nare found in Shelley s poetry are first a dominant im-\\npulse or passion for reforming mankind. This wish\\nor hope for a future Golden Age is the theme, almost\\nunsupported, of the greatest of his poems. The ideas\\nof reform given in Prometheus Unbound, are those\\nof the dreamer rather than the practical statesman.\\nTheir value lies in the fact that Shelley is an optimist\\nand encourages us to believe in and trust the innate\\ngoodness of the human heart. Their falsity lies in\\nI", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xxxix\\nShelley s ignorance of mankind and in a meagre, im-\\nperfect knowledge of history. As a writer of lyrical\\npoetry his interest in the welfare of the race is more\\nor less evident. Yet the purely aesthetic qualities of\\nhis mind constitute the chief value of his shorter\\npoems. These qualities are extreme sensitiveness,\\ngreat emotional and imaginative power. Keenly\\nsusceptible to all things beautiful, his mind was no\\nless active in bodying forth its figures and images in\\nmarvellous profusion and beauty.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "xl\\nINTRODUCTION\\nBIBLIOGRAPHY (Shelley)\\nSymonds, Life of Shelley. English Men of Letters.\\nDowden, Life of Shelley. Two volumes.\\nHogg, T. J., Life of Shelley. Two volumes.\\nArnold, Essays in Criticism. Second series.\\nBagehot, Literary Studies.\\nShairp, Aspects of Poetry.\\nMason, E., Personal Traits of British Authors.\\nScudder, V. D., The Greek Spirit in Shelley and Browning.\\nDowden, Transcripts and Studies. Second edition.\\nTrelawny, Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley.\\nHutton, Literary Essays.\\nWoodberry, Studies in Letters and Life.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xli\\nLIFE OF KEATS\\nThe publication of three small volumes of verse,\\nwrites Houghton in his life of Keats, some earnest\\nfriendships, one profound passion, and a premature\\ndeath [are] the only incidents of his career.\\nThis statement accurately summarizes this admirable\\nbiography, but is far too brief for those who would\\nknow that life in its fulness.\\nJohn Keats was born in 1795 and died in 1821. His\\nfather, Thomas Keats, born and bred in the country,\\ncame to London when a boy and secured the place\\nof head hostler in a livery stable owned by a Mr.\\nJohn Jennings. As time progressed, he married the\\ndaughter of his employer and later, upon retirement\\nof his father-in-law from active affairs, assumed entire\\ncontrol of the business management. Keats s mother,\\nwhose temperament he inherited, has been described\\nas a lively, clever, impulsive woman, passionately\\nfond of amusement. Besides the poet, the eldest\\nchild, there were four children, three brothers and a\\nsister. The youngest son died in infancy, and the\\nfather was killed by a fall from his horse in 1801.\\nThe family, thus reduced to the mother and four chil-\\ndren, continued their residence at the old home for", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "xlii INTRODUCTION\\nlittle more than a year, Mrs. Keats marrying, in the\\nmeantime, a Mr. Rawlings who had succeeded herB\\nhusband in control of the livery stable. The second\\nmarriage was unhappy, and Mrs. Rawlings with her\\nchildren went to the home of her mother, Mrs. Jen-\\nnings, who lived at Edmonton.\\nVery little is known of the home life of the family.\\nBoth father and mother w^ere devoted to their chil-\\ndren, and before the father died, John, with the\\nbrother George, next to him in age, were sent to the\\nprivate school of the E-ev. Mr. Clarke at Enfield.\\nUpon the removal of the family to Edmonton, the\\nresidence of John at Enfield, with that of the younger\\nbrother, Tom, was still continued. The account given\\nin later years by his schoolmates there is the chief\\nsource of information concerning Keats, and indirectl}^\\nconcerning his family.\\nHe passed five years (1805-1810) of his boyhood in\\nthe school at Enfield. At first he showed little apti-\\ntude for his books, but during the last terms, in his\\nfourteenth and fifteenth years, he became unusually\\nstudious and easily took the prizes offered by the\\nschool for excellence in literature. In addition to\\nthe regular course he began a translation of the\\n^neid into prose, and read books of history and\\nAncient mythology. In my mind s eye, writes\\nCowden Clarke, son of the principal of the school", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xliii\\nand one of Keats s warmest friends, I see him at\\nsupper, sitting back on the form from the table, hold-\\ning the folio volume of Burnefs History of My Own\\nTime between himself and the table, eating his meal\\nfrom beyond it.\\nHis schoolboy friends seem to have been chosen on\\nthe score of their courage and lighting propensities.\\nHe himself would light any one morning, noon,\\nand night, writes a classmate and another observes\\nthat he had a highly pugnacious spirit, which, when\\nroused, was one of the most picturesque exhibitions\\noff the stage I ever saw. With the same una-\\nnimity it is recorded that he was the favorite of all.\\nThe generosity and highmindedness of his character\\nwere no less evident than his pugnacity, and espe-\\ncially fine was the zealous care with which he pro-\\ntected his younger brother.\\nKeats s boyhood was full of happiness, but in the\\nmidst of his pleasures came misfortune. His mother,\\nwho had been in poor health for some time, declined\\nrapidly and suddenly died. The family were bound\\ntogether by ties of natural affection unusually strong,\\nand Keats was inconsolable in his sorrow, giving\\nway to such impassioned and prolonged grief (hiding\\nhimself in a nook under the master s desk), as awak-\\nened the liveliest pity and sympathy in all who saw\\nhim. Six months later, July, 1810, his grandmother", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "xliv INTRODUCTION\\nexecuted a deed leaving the larger part of her property\\nto the orphan children and placing them under the\\ncare of two guardians.\\nOne of these, Mr. Abbey, with the consent of his\\nassociate, assumed control of the children upon the\\ndeath of Mrs. Jennings a few months later. It was\\ndecided that Keats should fit himself for the practical\\nbusiness of life. He was accordingly w^ithdrawn from\\nschool and apprenticed to a surgeon for a term of five\\nyears. Little is known of his work as an apprentice,\\nbut the friendships formed during the years at school\\nwere not forgotten. Once a week he walked to Enfield\\nto read and talk with Cowden Clarke. He finished\\nhis translation of the ^neid during this time, and\\nbecame deeply interested in the poetry of Spenser.\\nThe Faerie Queene, in particular, fascinated him.\\nThrough the new world thus opened to him [he]\\nwent ranging with delight ^ramping is Cowden\\nClarke s word he showed, moreover, his own instincts\\nfor the poetical art by fastening with critical enthu-\\nsiasm on epithets of special felicity or power. Tor\\ninstance, says his friend, he hoisted himself up and\\nlooking burly and dominant, as he said, What an\\nimage that is sea-shouldering whales. It is doubt-\\nless true that the Faerie Queene first stimulated Keats\\ninto a consciousness of his own poetical genius. The\\nImitation of Spenser is, probably, his earliest poetry", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xlv\\nbut inspired, by his master and encouraged by the\\nsympathy of his friend. Clarke, he continued to write\\noccasional sonnets and. other verse.\\nIn the meantime his work as apprentice was grow-\\ning extremely distasteful. There is no direct evidence\\nof a quarrel with Hammond or of neglect of duty, yet\\nit is probable that the drudgery of a surgeon appren-\\nticeship and his growing love of poetry were incom-\\npatible. He did not as yet, however, give up his\\nprofession, but decided to continue his studies in Lon-\\ndon. He spent a year at St. Thomas s Hospital, suc-\\ncessfully passed his examinations, and was appointed,\\nMarch, 1816, a dresser at Guy s Hospital. He had\\nbecome skilful and dexterous in surgical operations,\\nand declared to Brown, his personal friend, that he\\ncould use the scalpel with the utmost nicety. But\\nit is quite evident that his tasks were perfunctory.\\nSketches of pansies and other flowers occasionally\\ndecorated the margin of his manuscript note-book.\\nWhen questioned by Clarke about his studies he\\nobserved, The other day, for instance, during the\\nlecture, there came a sunbeam into the room, and\\nwith it a whole troop of creatures floating in the ray,\\nand I was off with them to Oberon and fairy-land.\\nHe did his work regularly at the hospitals, but his\\ninclinations were otherwise and he gradually yielded\\nto them.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "xlvi INTRODUCTION\\nClarke, who had settled in London, introduced him\\nto Leigh Hunt. Through the Examiner, Hunt s maga-\\nzine, he had come to know the author while yet a II\\nschoolboy at Enfield, and had learned to admire him.\\nThey were soon warm friends and in time became\\nvery intimate. Hunt, shallow, graceful, and with a\\ndisposition of sunshine, was immeasurably beneath\\nKeats in native endowment, yet he exercised for a\\ntime a controlling and moulding influence upon him.\\nThey passed much time together and had many tastes\\nin common. Other acquaintances were Shelley, to\\nwhom Keats did not take very kindly, Hayden the\\nartist, and Severn, who a few years later was to accom-\\npany him to Italy.\\nIn 1817, at the suggestion of friends, he published\\nhis first volume of poems. Though containing Soli-\\ntude, Sleep and Poetry, and other unmistakable evi-\\ndences of high poetic faculty, the book made very\\nlittle impression upon the public. Hunt wrote a\\nfriendly though discriminating criticism in the Exam-\\niner, and through his influence the volume received\\nnotice in several papers. A few chosen friends were\\nenthusiastic and encouraged Keats to continue writ-\\ning. Yielding to their advice, he made an excursion\\nto the Isle of Wight in order to have the benefit of\\nseclusion and rest, which he felt he needed before\\nbeginning new work.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xlvii\\nHis circle of friends was growing larger. He met\\nLamb, Hazlitt, Coleridge, and Wordsworth. Hazlitt\\nwas delivering a series of lectures on literature at\\nSurrey Institute, and he and Keats became good friends,\\nthough Hazlitt does not seem to have recognized fully\\nKeats s greatness. Mention is made of an immortal\\ndinner given by Hayden, where Wordsworth quoted\\nMilton and Virgil with fine intonation and Lamb\\nperpetrated absurd jokes. Later Wordsworth invited\\nKeats to his home. Keats recited the Hymn to Pan\\n(Endymion) and Wordsworth patronizingly observed\\nthat it was a pretty piece of Paganism.\\nEndymion, begun a year before, was published early\\nin 1818. Immediately thereafter, in company with a\\nfriend, Keats started on a walking tour through\\nnorthern England. They visited the lake region, but\\nmissed seeing Wordsworth, who happened to be away\\nfrom home. Keats was in excellent spirits, and at\\nfirst thoroughly enjoyed the rugged scenery and the\\nnovelty of his daily experiences with the country\\npeople. But before his tour was half finished he\\nbegan to suffer from exposure. Several times he was\\ndrenched to the skin, and climbing mountains was too\\nmuch for him. In a letter he complains of a slight\\nsore throat, and adds that he has over-exerted him-\\nself. He became feverish, and finally decided, upon\\nthe advice of a physician whom he consulted, to return", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "xlviii INTRODUCTION\\nto London by boat, leaving his friend to complete the\\ntour alone. From this time on Keats s health steadilyli\\ndeclined. His inherent tendency to consumption was\\nundoubtedly strengthened by his indiscretion and\\nthoughtlessness.\\nImmediately upon his return to London there ap-\\npeared a brutal criticism of Endymion in the peri-\\nodical, Blackwood. Later the Quarterly contained\\nan article hardly less savage. Keats was too fully\\nconscious of his own integrity and of the meanness of\\nmotive behind these criticisms to be seriously affected\\nby them. Li a letter to a friend he observes, When\\nI feel I am right, no external praise can give me such\\na glow as my own solitary re-perception and ratifica-\\ntion of what is fine. It is not probable, as once\\nwas thought, that the criticisms of these periodicals\\nhastened in any large measure his death.\\nThe remaining incidents of Keats s life need not be\\nrecited in detail. His best poetry the six odes\\nwas yet to be written, but misfortunes of one sort or\\nanother made his last days wretched. His invalid\\nbrother, Tom, to whom he was devotedly attached,\\nafter a lingering illness died. George, the companion\\nbrother of his boyhood days, had emigrated to the\\nUnited States, and Keats himself, in addition to his\\ndeclining health, was in financial straits that pressed\\nhim greatly. He attempted to find work on the press\\nin London, but failed.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xlix\\nIn the midst of these disappointments he became\\ndespondent and careless of his health. Presh expos-\\nure resulted in renewed hemorrhages, and in company\\nwith his friend Severn he took passage for Italy in\\nSeptember, 1820. Shelley, immediately upon hearing\\nof Keats s sickness, had written from Pisa urging him\\nto make his home there. But Severn and Keats had\\nboth decided upon Rome and it was too late to alter\\nplans. The voyage and the climate of Italy proved\\nbeneficial and for a time Keats rallied. Severn enter-\\ntained strong hopes of his recovery, but the improve-\\nment was deceptive. A second relapse was followed\\nby his death, on February 23, 1821. Three days\\nlater his body was carried, attended by several of the\\nEnglish in Rome who had heard his story, to its grave\\nin that retired and verdant cemetery, which for his\\nsake and Shelley s has become a place of pilgrimage\\nto the English race forever.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nKEATS AS A POET\\nWe usually think of Keats as one of the chief poets\\nof the Romantic School. In the history of the\\ndevelopment of English literature he is given a place\\nwith Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, and Byron. It\\nis well, however, when possible, to indicate more pre-\\ncisely a poet s relations to his contemporaries.\\nWordsworth complained that with one or two excep-\\ntions not a single new image of external nature had\\nbeen given from the publication of Paradise Lost to\\nthe Seasons a period of sixty years. Of course\\nWordsworth s statement is too sweeping; yet the\\nexaggeration may be pardoned when we consider the\\nextent to which the English poets were hampered by\\nliterary precedent at the beginning of this century.\\nIdeals of any sort which have come gradually and\\nhave fastened themselves firmly in the public mind\\ncannot be attacked with impunity. The criticism\\ndirected against Wordsworth was hardly less than\\ndownright insult. The principles of poetic composi-\\ntion which he was at pains to state very minutely in\\nthe prefaces to his poems were received with scorn,\\nand he himself was the subject of ridicule not unmixed\\nwith contempt. Hazlitt declares that if Byron was", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION li\\nthe spoiled child of fortune, Wordsworth was the\\nsi)oiled child of disappointment. After his thirtieth\\nyear Wordsworth wrote very little genuine poetry,\\nand Coleridge s best work appeared in the Lyrical\\nBallads. Wordsworth stubbornly upheld his theories\\nto the end of his long life, and Coleridge lost himself\\nin the mazes of philosophy and metaphysics.\\nThere is no doubt, however, that they sowed the\\nseeds of a revolution whose results have been alto-\\ngether beneficial. Their sympathies were with the\\ngreat Elizabethans, and the tendency of much in\\ntheir theories of poetry and in their practice points\\nto the Age of Shakespeare as the only literary period\\nworthy of serious attention. Keats has been called\\nalike by gifts and training a true child of the\\nElizabethans. A close study of his poetry makes\\nthe truth of the statement evident. Responding to\\nthe influences of his time, he looked beyond his own\\nage and the one preceding for his ideals, and found\\nthem in Milton, Spenser, and Shakespeare.\\nComing directly to a consideration of the qualities\\nof his style, we are at once impressed with his extraor-\\ndinary susceptibility to the beauty of the natural\\nworld. A friend observes that He was in his glory\\nin the fields. The humming of a bee, the sight of a\\nflower, the glitter of the sun, seemed to make his\\nnature tremble j then his eyes flashed, his cheek", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "1l\\nlii INTRODUCTION\\nglowed, and his mouth quivered. He is at home\\nwith his sensations, and his sympathy with nature\\nis not of the intellectual or reflective kind. He\\ndoes not seek to harmonize his love of nature wit\\nany system of philosophy, but rather to know and\\nenjoy without restraint the beauty of her forms.\\nThis freedom from conventions is a partial explaa\\nnation of the utter simplicity and exquisite freshness\\nof his verse. Face to face with natural phenomena\\nhe was untrammelled by prejudices. No theory chilled\\nhis innocent delight nor retarded a complete devotion\\nto the charm of sensuous beauty. It was his instinct\\nto respond quickly and eagerly to all appeals to the\\neye and ear, and to realize for his reader the perfect\\nbeauty of the woods and fields.\\nThough primarily a poet of the senses, he is hot\\ndeficient in imaginative power. His arraignment of\\neighteenth century writers, who\\nwere closely wed\\nTo musty laws lined out with wretched rule\\nAnd compass vile,\\nindicates his feeling for the school of Pope, and his\\nstatement that poetry should surprise by a fine ex-\\ncess suggests at once the imaginative qualities of his\\nown verse. Not so daring as Shelley nor so faithful\\nas Wordsworth, he excels both in the gorgeous color", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION liii\\nof his imagery. If he sins, as some would have it, it\\nis on the side of over-decoration, yet the ease and ab-\\nsence of all effort with which he works go far toward\\ndisarming criticism. In bringing home to one a vivid\\npicture of natural scenery or of any beautiful object,\\nhe is unique among poets. The force of his descrip-\\ntions lies in this, more perhaps than in anything else.\\nHis experience becomes our experience, and we seem\\nto be in the actual presence of the objects portrayed.\\nNo analysis, of course, will disclose the ultimate se-\\ncret of this, any more than it will the subtle charm of\\nany genuine work of art. Yet the remarkable vivid-\\nness of his imagery is surely heightened by the action\\nand movement which are rarely absent from his de-\\nscriptions, and by his perfect feeling for word and\\nphrase. I have loved the principle of beauty in all\\nthings, he writes, and this extends to the vehicle as\\nwell as the substance of his thought. It is this rare\\nsensitiveness to the power of words that calls forth\\nMatthew Arnold s well-known eulogy, Shakespearian\\nwork it is not imitative, indeed, of Shakespeare,\\nbut Shakespearian, because its expression has that\\nrounded perfection and felicity of loveliness of which\\nShakespeare is the great master.\\nKeats died before he was twenty-six years old, and\\nnearly all the poems by which he is most favorably\\nknown were produced in rapid succession during a", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "li V INTROD UCTION\\nI\\nperiod of twenty monthvS. Tliis is a sufficient explana-\\ntion of much tliat is crude in his work. The wonder\\nis that under the circumstances, he produced so much\\nthat is without a flaw. His errors are those of youth\\nand immaturity. Would the faculties that were so\\nswift to reveal the hidden delights of nature, to divine\\nthe true spirit of antiquity, to conjure with the spell\\nof the Middle Age would they with time have\\ngained equal power to unlock the mysteries of the\\nheart, and still, in obedience to the law of beauty, to\\nilluminate and harmonize the great struggles and prob-\\nlems of human life There is good reason for be-\\nlieving so, yet, taking his poetry as it is, one must\\nadmit that he does not explore the heights and depths\\nof human experience. In a perfectly innocent youth-\\nful way he revels in the beauties of the natural world,\\npointing the way for others, less gifted, to a love of\\nnature not less complete and genuine than his own.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION Iv\\nBIBLIOGRAPHY (Keats)\\nSidney Colvin, Life of Keats. English Men of Letters.\\nSidney Colvin, Life of Keats. Dictionary of National Biogra-\\nphy.\\nW. M. Rossetti, Life of Keats. Great Writers.\\nDawson, W. J., The Makers of Modern English.\\nMasson, D., Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and other essays.\\nArnold, Essays in Criticism. Second series.\\nWoodberry, Studies in Letters and Life.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "POEMS FROM SHELLEY\\nTO A SKYLAKK\\nHail to thee, blithe spirit\\nBird thou never wert,\\nThat from heaven, or near it,\\nPoorest thy full heart\\nIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.\\nHigher still and higher\\nFrom the earth thou springest\\nLike a cloud of hre\\nThe blue deep thou wingest,\\nAnd singing still dost soar, and soaring ever\\nsingest. lo\\nIn the golden lightning\\nOf the sunken sun,\\nO er which clouds are brightning,\\nThou dost float and run\\nLike an unbodied\u00c2\u00b0 joy whose race is just begun.\\nB 1", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "TO A SKYLARK\\nThe pale purple even\\nMelts around thy flight\\nLike a star of heaven,\\nIn the broad daylight\\nThou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill de-\\nlight. 20\\nKeen as are the arrows\\nOf that silver sphere,\\nWhose intense lamp narrows\\nIn the white dawn clear.\\nUntil we hardly see, we feel that it is there.\\nAll the earth and air\\nWith thy voice is loud,\\nAs, when night is bare,\\nErom one lonely cloud\\nThe moon rains out her beams, and heaven is\\noverflowed. 30\\nWhat thou art we know not\\nWhat is most like thee\\nFrom rainbow clouds there flow not\\nDrops so bright to see.\\nAs from thy presence showers a rain of melody.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "TO A SKYLARK 3\\nLike a poet hidden\\nIn the light of thought,\\nSinging hymns unbidden,\\nTill the world is wrought\\nTo sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not 40\\nLike a high-born maiden\\nIn a palace-tower,\\nSoothing her love-laden\\nSoul in secret hour\\nWith music sweet as love, which overflows her\\nbower\\nLike a glow-worm golden\\nIn a dell of dew,\\nScattering unbeholden\\nIts aerial hue\\nAmong the flowers and grass, which screen it from\\nthe view 50\\nLike a rose embowered\\nIn its own green leaves.\\nBy warm winds deflowered,\\nTill the scent it gives\\nMakes faint with too much ^,sweet these heavy-\\nwinged thieves", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "4 TO A SKYLARK\\nSound of vernal showers\\nOn the twinkling grass,\\nRain-awakened flowers,\\nAll that ever was 59\\nJoyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass\\nTeach us, sprite or bird\\nWhat sweet thoughts are thine\\nI have never heard\\nPraise of love or wine\\nThat panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.\\nChorus Hymeneal,\\nOr triumphal chant,\\nMatched with thine would be all\\nBut an empty vaunt,\\nA thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70\\nWhat object are the fountains\\nOf thy hapjjy strain\\nWhat fields, or waves, or mountains\\nWhat shapes of sky or plain\\nWhat love of thine own kind? what ignorance of\\npain?", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "TO A SKYLARK 6\\nWith thy clear keen joyance\\nLanguor cannot be\\nShadow of annoyance\\nNever came near thee\\nThou lovest: but ne er knew love s sad satiety. 80\\nWaking or asleep,\\nThou of death must deem\\nThings more true and deep\\nThan we mortals dream,\\nOr how could thy notes flow in such a crystal\\nstream\\nWe look before and after,\\nAnd pine for what is not\\nOur sincerest laughter\\nWith some pain is fraught\\nOur sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest\\nthought. 90\\nYet if we could scorn\\nHate, and pride, and fear;\\nIf we were things born\\nNot to shed a tear,\\nI know not how thy joy we ever should come near.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "6 TO A SKYLARK\\nBetter than all measures\\nOf delightful sound,\\nBetter than all treasures\\nThat in books are found,\\nThy skill to poet were, thoii scorner of the ground! loo\\nTeach me half the gladness\\nThat thy brain must know,\\nSuch harmonious madness\\nFrom my lips would flow,\\nThe world should listen then, as I am listening\\nnow.\\nTHE CLOUD\\nI BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,\\nFrom the seas and the streams\\nI bear light shade for the leaves when laid\\nIn their noonday dreams.\\nFrom my wings are shaken the dews that waken\\nThe sweet buds every one,\\nWhen rocked to rest on their mother s breast,\\nAs she dances about the sun.\\nI wield the flail of the lashing hail,\\nAnd whiten the green plains under, lo", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "THE CLOUD 7\\nAnd then again I dissolve it in rain,\\nAnd laugh as I pass in thunder.\\nI sift the snow on the mountains below,\\nAnd their great pines groan aghast\\nAnd all the night tis my pillow white.\\nWhile I sleep in the arms of the blast.\\nSublime on the towers of my skyey bowers.\\nLightning my pilot sits,\\nIn a cavern under is fettered the thunder.\\nIt struggles and howls at fits 20\\nOver earth and ocean, with gentle motion,\\nThis pilot is guiding me,\\nLured by the love of the genii that move\\nIn the depths of the purple sea;\\nOver the rills, and the crags, and the hills,\\nOver the lakes and the plains.\\nWherever he dream, under mountain or stream,\\nThe Spirit he loves remains\\nAnd I all the while bask in heaven s blue smile,\\nWhilst he is dissolving in rains. 30\\nThe sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,\\nAnd his burning plumes outspread.\\nLeaps on the back of my sailing rack,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "8 THE CLOUD\\nWhen the ihorning star shines dead,\\nAs on the jag of a mountain crag,\\nWhich an earthquake rocks and swings,\\nAn eagle lit one moment may sit\\nIn the light of its golden wings.\\nAnd when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea\\nbeneath,\\nIts ardors of rest and of love, 40\\nAnd the crimson pall of eve may fall\\nFrom the depths of heaven above,\\nWith wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,\\nAs still as a brooding dove.\\nThat orbed maiden with white fire laden.\\nWhom mortals call the moon.\\nGlides glimmering o er my fleece-like floor,\\nBy the midnight breezes strewn\\nAnd wherever the beat of her unseen feet,\\nWhich only the angels hear, 50\\nMay have broken the woof of my tent s thin roof,\\nThe stars peep behind her and peer\\n\u00c2\u00b0And I laugh to see them whirl and flee.\\nLike a swarm of golden bees.\\nWhen I widen the rent in my wind-built tent.\\nTill the calm rivers, lakes, and seas.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "THE CLOUD 9\\nLike strips of the sky fallen through me on high,\\nAre each paved with the moon and these.\\nI bind the sun s throne with a burning zone,\\nAnd the moon s with a girdle of pearl 60\\nThe volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,\\nWhen the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.\\nFrom cape to cape with a bridge-like shape,\\nOver a torrent sea,\\nSunbeam -proof, I hang like a roof.\\nThe mountains its columns be.\\nThe triumphal arch through which I march\\nWith hurricane, fire, and snow,\\nWhen the powers of the air are chained to my chair.\\nIs the million-colored bow 70\\nThe sphere-fire above its soft colors wove.\\nWhile the moist earth was laughing below.\\nI am the daughter of earth and water.\\nAnd the nursling of the sky\\nI pass through the pores of the ocean and shores\\nI change, but I cannot die.\\nFor after the rain when with never a stain.\\nThe pavilion of heaven is bare.\\nAnd the winds and sunbeams with their convex\\ngleams,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "10 THE CLOUD\\nm^\\nBuild up the blue dome of air,\\nI silently laugli at my own cenotaph,\\nAnd out of the caverns of rain.\\nLike a child from the womb, like a ghost from the\\ntomb,\\nI arise and unbuild it again.\\nODE TO THE WEST WIND\\nWILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn s being.\\nThou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead\\nAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,\\nYellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,\\nPestilence-stricken multitudes thou.\\nWho chariotest to their dark wintry bed\\nThe winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,\\nEach like a corpse within its grave, until\\nThine azure sister of the spring shall blow\\nHer clarion o er the dreaming earth, and fill j\\n(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)\\nWith living hues and odors plain and hill", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "ODE TO THE WEST WIND 11\\nWild Spirit, which art moving everywhere\\nDestroyer and preserver hear, hear\\nII\\nThou on whose stream, mid the steep sky s commotion,\\nLoose clouds like earth s decaying leaves are shed,\\nShook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,\\nAngels of rain and lightning there are spread\\nOn the blue surface of thine airy surge.\\nLike the bright hair unlifted from the head 20\\nOf some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge\\nOf the horizon to the zenith s height\\nThe locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge\\nOf the dying year, to which this closing night\\nWill be the dome of a vast sepulchre,\\nVaulted with all thy congregated might\\nOf vapors, from whose solid atmosphere\\nBlack rain, and fire, and hail will burst hear\\nIll\\nThou who didst waken from his summer dreams\\nThe blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30\\nLulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "12 ODE TO THE WEST WIND\\nBeside a pumice isle in Baiae s bay,\\nAnd saw in sleep old palaces and towers\\nQuivering within the wave s intenser day,\\nAll overgrown with azure moss and flowers\\nSo sweet, the sense faints picturing them Thou\\nFor whose path the Atlantic s level powers\\nCleave themselves into chasms, while far below\\nThe sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear\\nThe sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40\\nThy voice, and suddenly \u00c2\u00b0grow gray with fear.\\nAnd tremble and despoil themselves hear\\nIV\\nIf I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear\\nIf I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;\\nA wave to pant beneath thy power, and share\\nThe impulse of thy strength, only less free\\nThan thou, O uncontrollable If even\\nI were as in my boyhood, and could be\\nThe comrade of thy wanderings over heaven.\\nAs then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed 50\\nScarce seemed a vision I would ne er have striven", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "ODE TO THE WEST WIND 13\\nAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.\\nOh lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud\\nI fall upon the thorns of life I bleed\\nA heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed\\nOne too like thee tameless, and swift, and proud.\\nMake me thy lyre, even as the forest is:\\nWhat if my leaves are falling like its own\\nThe tumult of thy mighty harmonies\\nWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 60\\nSweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,\\nMy spirit Be thou me, impetuous one\\nDrive my dead thoughts over the universe\\nLike withered leaves to quicken a new birth\\nAnd, by the incantation of this verse.\\nScatter, as from an unextinguished hearth\\nAshes and sparks, my words among mankind\\nBe through my lips to unawakened earth\\nThe trumpet of a prophecy wind,\\nIf Winter comes, can Spring be far behind 70", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "14 WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE\\nWITH A GUITAE, TO JANE\\nAriel to \u00c2\u00b0Miranda. Take\\nThe slave of Music, for the sake\\nOf him who is the slave of thee,\\nAnd teach it all the harmony\\nIn which thou canst, and only thou,\\nMake the delighted spirit glow,\\nTill joy denies itself again.\\nAnd, too intense, is turned to pain\\nFor by permission and command\\nOf thine own Prince Ferdinand,\\nPoor Ariel sends this silent token\\nOf more than ever can be spoken\\nYour guardian spirit, Ariel, who.\\nFrom life to life, must still j)ursue\\nYour happiness for thus alone\\nCan Ariel ever find his own.\\nFrom Prospero s enchanted cell,\\nAs the mighty verses tell.\\nTo the throne of Naples, he\\nLit you o er the trackless sea,\\nFlitting on, your prow before.\\nLike a living meteor.\\nWhen you die, the silent Moon,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE 15\\nIn her interlunar swoon,\\nIs not sadder in her cell\\nThan deserted Ariel.\\nWhen you live again on earth,\\nLike an unseen star of birth,\\nAriel guides you o er the sea\\nOf life from your nativity. 30\\nMany changes have been run,\\nSince Ferdinand and you begun\\nYour course of love, and Ariel still\\nHas tracked your steps, and served your will\\nNow, in humbler, happier lot,\\nThis is all remembered not\\nAnd now, alas the poor sprite is\\nImprisoned, for some fault of his,\\nIn a body like a grave\\nFrom you he only dares to crave, 40\\nFor his service and his sorrow,\\nA smile to-day, a song to-morrow.\\nThe artist who this idol wrought,\\nTo echo all harmonious thought.\\nFelled a tree, while on the steep\\nThe woods were in their winter sleep,\\nRocked in that repose divine", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "16 WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE\\nOn the wind-swept Apennine\\nAnd dreaming, some of Autumn past,\\nAnd some of Spring approaching fast,\\nAnd some of April buds and showers,\\nAnd some of songs in July bowers,\\nAnd all of love and so this tree,\\nO that such our death may be\\nDied in sleep and felt no pain,\\nTo live in happier form again\\nFrom which, beneath Heaven s fairest star,\\nThe artist wrought this loved Guitar,\\nAnd taught it justly to reply,\\nTo all who question skilfully, 60\\nIn language gentle as thine ownj\\nWhispering in enamoured tone\\nSweet oracles of woods and dells,\\nAnd summer winds in sylvan cells\\nFor it had learnt all harmonies\\nOf the plains and of the skies,\\nOf the forests and the mountains.\\nAnd the many-voiced fountains\\nThe clearest echoes of the hills.\\nThe softest notes of falling rills, 70\\nThe melodies of birds and bees.\\nThe murmuring of summer seas,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "LIFT NOT THE PAINTED VEIL 17\\nAnd pattering rain, and breathing dew,\\nAnd airs of evening and it knew\\nThat seldom-heard mysterious sound,\\nAVhich, driven on its diurnal round,\\nAs it floats through boundless day,\\nOur world enkindles on its way\\nAll this it knows, but will not tell\\nTo those who cannot question well 80\\nThe spirit that inhabits it\\nIt talks according to the wit\\nOf its companions and no more\\nIs heard than has been felt before.\\nBy those who tempt it to betray\\nThese secrets of an elder day\\nBut sweetly as its answers will\\nFlatter hands of perfect skill,\\nIt keeps its highest, holiest tone\\nFor our beloved Jane alone. 90\\nSONNET\\nLift not the painted veil which those who live\\nCall Life though unreal shapes be pictured there.\\nAnd it but mimic all we would believe\\nWith colors idly spread, behind, lurk Fear", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "18 ENGLAND IN 1819\\nAnd Hope, twin destinies who ever weave\\nTheir shadows, o er the chasm, sightless and drear.\\nI knew one who had lifted it he sought,\\nFor his lost heart was tender, things to love,\\nBut found them not, alas nor was there aught\\nThe world contains, the which he could approve. lo\\nThrough the unheeding many he did move,\\nA splendor among shadows, a bright blot\\nUpon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove\\nFor truth, and like the Preacher found it not.\\nSOKNET: ENGLAND IN 1819\\nAn old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,\\nPrinces, the dregs of their dull race, who flow\\nThrough public scorn, mud from a muddy spring,\\nRulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know.\\nBut leech-like to their fainting country cling.\\nTill they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,\\nA people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,\\nAn army, which liberticide and prey\\nMakes as a two-edged sword to all who wield\\nGolden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay lo\\nReligion Christless, Godless a book sealed\\nA Senate, Time s worst statute unrepealed,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "MEN OF ENGLAND 19\\nAre graves, from which a glorious Phantom may\\nBurst, to illumine our tempestuous day.\\nSONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND\\nMen of England, wherefore plough\\nFor the lords who lay ye low\\nWherefore weave with toil and care\\nThe rich robes your tyrants wear\\nII\\nWherefore feed, and clothe, and save.\\nFrom the cradle to the grave.\\nThose ungrateful drones who would\\nDrain .your sweat nay, drink your blood\\nIll\\nWherefore, Bees of England, forge\\nMany a weapon, chain, and scourge.\\nThat these stingless drones may spoil\\nThe forced produce of your toil", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "20 MEN OF ENGLAND\\nIV\\nHave ye leisure, comfort, calm,\\nShelter, food, love s gentle balm\\nOr what is it ye buy so dear\\nWith your pain and with your fear\\nThe seed ye sow, another reaps\\nThe wealth ye find, another keeps\\nThe robes you weave, another wears\\nThe arms ye forge, another bears.\\nVI\\nSow seed, but let no tyrant reap\\nFind wealth, let no impostor heap\\nWeave robes, let not the idle wear\\nForge arms, in your defence to bear.\\nVII\\nShrink to your cellars, holes, and cells\\nIn halls ye deck another dwells.\\nWhy shake the chains ye wrought Ye see\\nThe steel ye tempered glance on ye.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 21\\nVIII\\nWith plough and spade, and hoe and loom,\\nTrace your grave, and build your tomb, 30\\nAnd weave your winding-sheet, till fair\\nEngland be your sepulchre.\\nTHE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nPart First\\nA Sensitive Plant in a garden grew.\\nAnd the young winds fed it with silver dew,\\nAnd it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,\\nAnd closed them beneath the kisses of night.\\nAnd the Spring arose on the garden fair.\\nLike the Spirit of Love felt everywhere\\nAnd each flower and herb on Earth s dark breast\\nRose from the dreams of its wintry rest.\\nBut none ever trembled and panted with bliss\\nIn the garden, the field, or the wilderness, 10\\nLike a doe in the noontide with love s sweet want,\\nAs the companionless Sensitive Plant.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "22 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nThe snowdrop, and then the violet,\\nArose from the ground with warm rain wet,\\nAnd their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent\\nFrom the turf, like the voice and the instrument.\\nThen the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall,\\nAnd narcissi, the fairest among them all,\\nWho gaze on their eyes in the stream s recess,\\nTill they die of their own dear loveliness\\nAnd the jSTaiad-like lily of the vale,\\nWhom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,\\nThat the light of its tremulous bells is seen\\nThrough their pavilions of tender green\\nAnd the hyacinth purple and white and blue,\\nWhich flung from its bells a sweet peal anew\\nOf music so delicate, soft, and intense.\\nIt was felt like an odor within the sense\\nAnd the rose like a nymph to the bath addressed,\\nWhich unveiled the depth of her glowing breast.\\nTill, fold after fold, to the fainting air\\nThe soul of her beauty and love lay bare\\nAnd the wand-like lily, which lifted up,\\nAs a Maenad, its moonlight-colored cup.\\n30", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 23\\nTill the fiery star, which is its eye,\\nGazed through clear dew on the tender sky\\nAnd the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,\\nThe sweetest flower for scent that blows\\nAnd all rare blossoms from every clime,\\nGrew in that garden in perfect prime. 40\\nAnd on the stream whose inconstant bosom\\nWas pranked under boughs of embowering blossom,\\nWith golden and green light, slanting through\\nTheir heaven of many a tangled hue.\\nBroad water-lilies lay tremulously.\\nAnd starry river-buds glimmered by.\\nAnd around them the soft stream did glide and dance\\nWith a motion of sweet sound and radiance.\\nAnd the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss,\\nWhich led through the garden along and across, 50\\nSome open at once to the sun and the breeze.\\nSome lost among bowers of blossoming trees.\\nWere all paved with daisies and delicate bells\\nAs fair as the fabulous \u00c2\u00b0asphodels.\\nAnd flowrets which drooping as day drooped too\\nFell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue,\\nTo \u00c2\u00b0roof the glow-worm from the evening dew.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "24 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nAnd from this undefiled Paradise\\nThe flowers (as an infant s awakening eyes\\nSmile on its mother, whose singing sweet\\nCan first lull, and at last must awaken it),\\nWhen Heaven s blithe winds had unfolded them,\\nAs mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem,\\nShone smiling to Heaven, and every one\\nShared joy in the light of the gentle sun;\\nFor each one was interpenetrated\\nWith the light and the odor its neighbor shed,\\nLike young lovers whom youth and love make dear\\nWrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere. 69\\nBut the Sensitive Plant, which could give small fruit\\nOf the love which it felt from the leaf to the root.\\nReceived more than all, it loved more than ever.\\nWhere none wanted but it, could belong to the giver\\nPor the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower\\nRadiance and odor are not its dower\\nIt loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full.\\nIt desires what it has not, the beautiful\\nThe light winds which from unsustaining wings\\nShed the music of many murmurings j", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 25\\nThe beams which dart from many a star 80\\nOf the flowers whose hues they bear afar;\\nThe phmied insects swift and free,\\nLike golden boats on a sunny sea,\\nLaden with light and odor, which pass\\nOver the gleam of the living grass;\\nThe unseen clouds of the dew, which lie\\nLike fire in the flowers till the sun rides high,\\nThen wander like spirits among the spheres.\\nEach cloud faint with the fragrance it bears\\nThe quivering vapors of dim noontide, 90\\nWhich like a sea o er the warm earth glide.\\nIn which every sound, and odor, and beam.\\nMove, as reeds in a single stream\\nEach and all like ministering angels were\\nFor the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear.\\nWhilst the lagging hours of the day went by\\nLike windless clouds o er a tender sky.\\nAnd when evening descended from heaven above.\\nAnd the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love.\\nAnd delight, though less bright, was far more deep 100\\nAnd the day s veil fell from the world of sleep,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "26 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nAnd the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were_\\ndrowned\\nIn an ocean of dreams without a sound\\nWhose waves never mark, though they ever impress\\nThe light sand which paves it, consciousness\\n(Only overhead the sweet nightingale\\nEver sang more sweet as the day might fail,\\nAnd snatches of its Elysian chant\\nWere mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant.)\\nThe Sensitive Plant was the earliest no\\nUp-gathered into the bosom of rest\\nA sweet child weary of its delight.\\nThe feeblest and yet the favorite.\\nCradled within the embrace of night.\\nPart Second\\nThere was a Power in this sweet place,\\nAn Eve in this Eden a ruling grace\\nWhich to the flowers did they waken or dream,\\nWas as God is to the starry scheme.\\nA Lady, the wonder of her kind,\\nWhose form was upborne by a lovely mind 120", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 27\\nWhich, dilating, had moulded her mien and motion\\nLike a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean,\\nTended the garden from morn to even\\nAnd the meteors of that sublunar heaven,\\nLike the lamps of the air when night walks forth.\\nLaughed round her footsteps up from the Earth\\nShe had no companion of mortal race,\\nBut her tremulous breath and her flushing face\\nTold, whilst the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes\\nThat her dreams were less slumber than Paradise: 130\\nAs if some bright Spirit for her sweet sake\\nHad deserted heaven while the stars were awake.\\nAs if yet around her he lingering were.\\nThough the veil of daylight concealed him from her.\\nHer step seemed to pity the grass it pressed;\\nYou might hear by the heaving of her breast,\\nThat the coming and going of the wind\\nBrought pleasure there and left passion behind.\\nAnd wherever her airy footstep trod.\\nHer trailing hair from the grassy sod 140\\nErased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep,\\nLike a sunny storm o er the dark green deep.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "28 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nI doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet\\nRejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet;\\nI doubt not they felt the spirit that came\\nFrom her glowing fingers through all their frame.\\nShe sprinkled bright water from the stream\\nOn those that were faint with the sunny beam\\nAnd out of the cups of the heavy flowers\\nShe emptied the rain of the thunder showers. 150\\nShe lifted their heads with her tender hands,\\nAnd sustained them with rods and osier bands;\\nIf the flowers had been her own infants she\\nCould never have nursed them more tenderly.\\nAnd all killing insects and gnawing worms,\\nAnd things of obscene and unlovely forms,\\nShe bore in a basket of Indian woof,\\nInto the rough woods far aloof,\\nIn a basket, of grasses and wild-flowers full,\\nThe freshest her gentle hands could pull 160\\nFor the poor banished insects, whose intent,\\nAlthough they did ill, was innocent.\\nBut the bee and the beam-like ephemeris\\nWhose path is the lightning s, and soft moths that kiss", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 29\\nThe sweet lips of the flowers, and harm not, did she\\nMake her attendant angels be.\\nAnd many an antenatal tomb,\\nWhere butterflies dream of the life to come,\\nShe left clinging round the smooth and dark\\nEdge of the odorous cedar bark. 170\\nThis fairest creature from earliest spring\\nThus moved through the garden ministering\\nAll the sweet season of summer tide,\\nAnd ere the first leaf looked brown she died\\nPart Third\\nThree days the flowers of the garden fair,\\nLike stars when the moon is awakened, were,\\nOr the waves of \u00c2\u00b0Baiae, ere luminous\\nShe floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius.\\nAnd on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant\\nFelt the sound of the funeral chant, 180\\nAnd the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow.\\nAnd the sobs of the mourners deep and low\\nThe weary sound and the heavy breath.\\nAnd the silent motions of passing death,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "30 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nAnd the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank.\\nSent through the pores of the coffin plank\\nI\\nThe dark grass, and the flowers among the grass.\\nWere bright with tears as the crowd did pass;\\nFrom their sighs the wind caught a mournful tone,\\nAnd sate in the pines, and gave groan for groan. 190\\nThe garden, once fair, became cold and foul.\\nLike the corpse of her who had been its soul.\\nWhich at first was lovely as if in sleep,\\nThen slowly changed, till it grew a heap\\nTo make men tremble who never weep.\\nSwift summer into the autumn flowed,\\nAnd frost in the mist of the morning rode.\\nThough the noonday sun looked clear and bright,\\nMocking the spoil of the secret night.\\nThe rose leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, 200\\nPaved the turf and the moss below.\\nThe lilies were drooping, and white, and wan,\\nLike the head and the skin of a dying man.\\nAnd Indian plants, of scent and hue\\nThe sweetest that ever were fed on dew.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 31\\nLeaf by leaf, day after day,\\nWere massed into the common clay.\\nAnd the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray, and red.\\nAnd white with the whiteness of what is dead.\\nLike troops of ghosts on the dry wind passed 210\\nTheir whistling noise made the birds aghast.\\nAnd the gusty winds waked the winged seeds,\\nOut of their birthplace of ugly weeds.\\nTill they clung round many a sweet flower s stem,\\nWhich rotted into the earth with them.\\nThe water-blooms under the rivulet\\nFell from the stalks on which they were set\\nAnd the eddies drove them here and there,\\nAs the winds did those of the upper air.\\nThen the rain came down, and the broken stalks, 220\\nWere bent and tangled across the walks\\nAnd the leafless network of parasite bowers\\nMassed into ruin and all sweet flowers.\\nBetween the time of the wind and the snow,\\nAll loathliest weeds began to grow,\\nWhose coarse leaves were splashed with many a speck.\\nLike the water-snake s belly and the toad s back.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "32 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nAnd thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank,\\nAnd the dock, and henbane, and hemlock dank,\\nStretched out its long and hollow shank,\\nAnd stifled the air till the dead wind stank.\\nAnd plants at whose names the verse feels loath,\\nFilled the place with a monstrous undergrowth.\\nPrickly, and pulpous, and blistering, and blue.\\nLivid, and starred with a lurid dew.\\nAnd agarics and fungi, with mildew and mould\\nStarted like mist from the wet ground cold\\nPale, fleshy, as if the decaying dead\\nWith a spirit of growth had been animated\\nTheir moss rotted off them flake by flake,\\nTill the thick stalk stuck like a murderer s stake,\\nWhere rags of loose flesh yet tremble on high,\\nInfecting the winds that wander by.\\nSpawn, weeds, and filth, a leprous scum.\\nMade the running rivulet thick and dumb.\\nAnd at its outlet flags huge as stakes\\nDammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes.\\nAnd hour by hour, when the air was still,\\nThe vapors arose which have strength to kill\\n240", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT 33\\nAt morn they were seen, at noon they were felt, 250\\nAt night they were darkness no star could melt.\\nAnd unctuous meteors from spray to spray\\nCrept and flitted in broad noonday\\nUnseen every branch on which they alit\\nBy a venomous blight was burned and bit.\\nThe Sensitive Plant like one forbid\\nWept, and the tears within each lid\\nOf its folded leaves which together grew\\nWere changed to a blight of frozen glue.\\nFor the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon 260\\nBy the heavy axe of the blast were hewn\\nThe sap shrank to the root through every pore,\\nAs blood to a heart that will beat no more.\\nFor winter came the wind was his whip:\\nOne choppy finger was on his lip\\nHe had torn the cataracts from the hills\\nAnd they clanked at his girdle like manacles\\nHis breath was a chain which without a sound\\nThe earth, and the air, and the water bound\\nHe came, fiercely driven, in his chariot-throne 270\\nBy the tenfold blasts of the Arctic zone.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "34 THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nThen the weeds which were forms of living death\\nFled from the frost to the earth beneath.\\nTheir decay and sudden flight from frost\\nWas but like the vanishing of a ghost\\nAnd under the roots of the Sensitive Plant\\nThe moles and the dormice died for want;\\nThe birds dropped stiif from the frozen air\\nAnd were caught in the branches naked and bare.\\nFirst there came down a thawing rain 280\\nAnd its dull drops froze on the boughs again,\\nThen there steamed up a freezing dew\\nWhich to the drops of the thaw-rain grew\\nAnd a northern whirlwind, wandering about\\nLike a wolf that had smelt a dead child out.\\nShook the boughs thus laden, and heavy and stiff,\\nAnd snapped them off with his rigid griff.\\nWhen winter had gone and spring came back\\nThe Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck\\nBut the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and\\ndarnels, 290\\nRose like the dead from their ruined charnels.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "THE SENSITIVE PLANT\\nConclusion\\n35\\nWhether the Sensitive Plant, or that\\nWhich within its boughs like a spirit sat\\nEre its outward form had known decay,\\nNow felt this change, I cannot say.\\nWhether that lady s gentle mind.\\nNo longer with the form combined\\nWhich scattered love, as stars do light\\nFound sadness, where it left delight,\\nI dare not guess but in this life 300\\nOf error, ignorance, and strife,\\nWhere nothing is, but all things seem,\\nAnd we the shadows of the dream,\\nIt is a modest creed, and yet\\nPleasant if one considers it,\\nTo own that death itself must be,\\nLike all the rest, a mockery.\\nThat garden sweet, that lady fair.\\nAnd all sweet shapes and odor there,\\nIn truth have never past away 3^0\\nTis we, tis ours, are changed not they.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "36 TO WORDSWORTH\\nFor love and beauty and delight,\\nThere is no death nor change their might\\nExceeds our organs, which endure\\nNo light, being themselves obscure.\\nTO WORDSWORTH\\nPoet of Nature, thou hast wept to know\\nThat things depart which never may return\\n^Childhood and youth, friendship and love s hrst glow,\\nHave fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.\\nThese common woes I feel. One loss is mine\\nWhich thou too feePst, yet I alone deplore.\\n\u00c2\u00b0Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine\\nOn some frail bark in winter s midnight roar\\nThou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood\\nAbove the blind and battling multitude lo\\nIn honored poverty thy voice did weave\\nSongs consecrate to truth and liberty,\\nDeserting these, thou leavest me to grieve.\\nThus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "TO COLERIDGE 37\\nTO COLERIDGE\\nAAKPTSI AlOISfi nOTMON AHOTMON-\\nOh there are spirits of the air,\\nAnd genii of the evening breeze,\\nAnd gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair\\nAs star-beams among twilight trees\\nSuch lovely ministers to meet\\nOft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet\\nWith mountain winds, and babbling springs,\\nAnd moonlight seas, that are the voice\\nOf these inexplicable things\\nThou didst hold commune, and rejoice\\nWhen they did answer thee but they\\nCast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.\\nAnd thou hast sought in starry eyes\\nBeams that were never meant for thine,\\nAnother s wealth tame sacrifice\\nTo a fond faith still dost thou pine\\nStill dost thou hope that greeting hands,\\nVoice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands\\n10", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "38 TO COLERIDGE\\nAh wherefore didst thou build thine hope\\nOn the false earth s inconstancy ao\\nDid thine own mind afford no scope\\nOf love, or moving thoughts to thee\\nThat natural scenes or human smiles\\nCould steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.\\nYes, all the faithless smiles are fled\\nWhose falsehood left thee broken-hearted\\n\u00c2\u00b0The glory of the moon is dead\\nNight^s ghosts and dreams have now departed\\nThine own soul still is true to thee,\\nBut changed to a \u00c2\u00b0foul fiend through misery. 30\\nThis fiend, whose ghastly presence ever\\nBeside thee like thy shadow hangs,\\nDream not to chase the mad endeavor\\nWould scourge thee to severer pangs.\\nBe as thou art. Thy settled fate.\\nDark as it is, all change would aggravate.\\nMONT BLANC\\nLINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI\\nI\\nThe everlasting universe of things\\nFlows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "MONT BLANC 39\\nNow dark now glittering now reflecting gloom\\nNow lending splendor, where from secret springs\\nThe source of human thought its tribute brings\\nOf waters, with a sound but half its own,\\nSuch as a feeble brook will oft assume\\nIn the wild woods, among the mountains lone.\\nWhere waterfalls around it leap forever.\\nWhere woods and winds contend, and a vast river lo\\nOver its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.\\nII\\nThus thou, Eavine of Arve dark, deep Ravine\\nThou many-colored, many-voiced vale.\\nOver whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail\\nFast cloud-shadows and sunbeams awful scene,\\nWhere Power in likeness of the Arve comes down\\nFrom the ice gulfs that gird his secret throne.\\nBursting through these dark mountains like the flame\\nOf lightning through the tempest thou dost lie.\\nThy giant brood of pines around thee clinging, 20\\nChildren of elder time, in whose devotion\\nThe chainless winds still come and ever came\\nTo drink their odors, and their mighty swinging\\nTo hear an old and solemn harmony", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "40 MONT BLANC\\nThine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep\\nOf the ethereal waterfall, whose veil\\nRobes some unsculptured image the strange sleep\\nWhich when the voices of the desert fail\\nWraps all in its own deep eternity\\nThy caverns echoing to the Arve s commotion, 30\\nA loud, lone sound no other sound can tame\\nThou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,\\nThou art the path of that unresting sound\\nDizzy Ravine and when I gaze on thee\\nI seem as in a trance sublime and strange\\nTo muse on my own separate fantasy.\\nMy own, my human mind, which passively\\nNow renders and receives fast influencings.\\nHolding an unremitting interchange\\nWith the clear universe of things around 40\\nOne legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings\\nNow float above thy darkness, and now rest\\nWhere that or thou art no unbidden guest,\\nIn the still cave of the witch Poesy,\\nSeeking among the shadows that pass by\\nGhosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,\\nSome phantom, some faint image till the breast\\nFrom which they fled recalls them, thou art there", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "mjNT BLANO 41\\nIII\\nSome say that gleams of a remoter world\\nVisit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber, 50\\nAnd that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber\\nOf those who wake and live. I look on high\\nHas some unknown omnipotence unfurled\\nThe veil of life or death or do I lie\\nIn dream, and does the mightier world of sleep\\nSpread far around and inaccessibly\\nIts circles For the very spirit fails,\\nDriven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep\\nThat vanishes among the viewless gales\\nFar, \u00c2\u00b0far above, piercing the infinite sky, 60\\nMont Blanc appears, still, snowy, and serene\\nIts subject mountains their unearthly forms\\nPile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between\\nOf frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,\\nBlue as the overhanging heaven, that spread\\nAnd wind among the accumulated steeps;\\nA desert peopled by the storms alone.\\nSave when the eagle brings some hunter s bone,\\nAnd the wolf tracks her there how hideously\\nIts shapes are heaped around rude, bare, and high, 70\\nGhastly, and scarred, and riven. Is this the scene", "height": "2505", "width": "1711", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "42 MONT BLANC\\nWhere the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young\\nRuin Were these their toys or did a sea\\nOf fire envelop once this silent snow\\nNone can reply all seems eternal now.\\nThe wilderness has a mysterious tongue\\nWhich teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,\\nSo solemn, so serene, that man may be\\nBut for such faith with Nature reconciled\\nThou hast a voice, \u00c2\u00b0great Mountain, to repeal 80\\nLarge codes of fraud and woe; not understood\\nBy all, but which the wise, and great, and good\\nInterpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.\\nIV\\nThe fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,\\nOcean, and all the living things that dwell\\nWithin the daedal earth lightning and rain.\\nEarthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane.\\nThe torpor of the year when feeble dreams\\nVisit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep\\nHolds every future leaf and flower; the bound 90\\nWith which from that detested trance they leap\\nThe works and ways of man, their death and birth,\\nAnd that of him and all that his may be\\nAll things that move and breathe with toil and sound", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "MONT BLANC 43\\nAre born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.\\n\u00c2\u00b0Power dwells apart in its tranquillity\\nRemote, serene, and inaccessible:\\nAnd this, the naked countenance of earth,\\nOn which I gaze, even these primeval mountains\\nTeach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep loo\\nLike snakes that watch their prey, from their far\\nfountains.\\nSlow rolling on there, many a precipice.\\nFrost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power\\nHave piled dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,\\nA city of death, distinct with many a tower\\nAnd wall impregnable of beaming ice.\\nYet not a city, but a flood of ruin\\nIs there, that from the boundaries of the sky\\nEolls its perpetual stream vast pines are strewing\\nIts destined path, or in the mangled soil no\\nBranchless and shattered stand; the rocks, drawn\\ndown\\nFrom yon remotest waste, have overthrown\\nThe limits of the dead and living world.\\nNever to be reclaimed. The dwelling-place\\nOf insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil\\nTheir food and their retreat forever gone,\\nSo much of life and joy is lost. The race", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "44 MONT BLANC\\nOf man flies far in dread his work and dwelling\\nVanish, like smoke before the tempest s stream,\\nAnd their place is not known. Below, vast caves\\nShine in the rushing torrents restless gleam.\\nWhich from those secret chasms a tumult welling\\nMeet in the vale, and one majestic Eiver,\\nThe breath and blood of distant lands, forever\\nRolls its loud waters to the ocean waves,\\nBreathes its swift vapors to the circling air.\\nMont Blanc yet gleams on high the power is\\nthere.\\nThe still and \u00c2\u00b0solemn power of many sights.\\nAnd many sounds, and much of life and death.\\nIn the calm darkness of the moonless nights, 130\\nIn the lone glare of day, the snows descend\\nUpon that Mountain; none beholds them there.\\nNor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,\\nOr the star-beams dart through them Winds contend\\nSilently there, and heap the snow with breath\\nRapid and strong, but silently Its home\\nThe voiceless lightning in these solitudes\\nKeeps innocently, and like vapor broods\\nOver the snow. The secret strength of things", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY 45\\nWhich governs thought, and to the infinite dome 140\\nOf heaven is as a law, inhabits thee\\nAnd what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,\\nIf to the human mind s imaginings\\nSilence and solitude were vacancy\\nJuly 23, 1816.\\nHYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY\\nThe awful shadow of some \u00c2\u00b0unseen Power\\nFloats though unseen amongst us, visiting\\nThis various world with as inconstant wing\\nAs summer winds that creep from flower to flower,\\nLike moonbeams that behind some piny mountain\\nshower,\\nIt visits with inconstant glance\\nEach human heart and countenance;\\nLike hues and harmonies of evening,\\nLike clouds in starlight widely spread,\\nLike memory of music fled, 10\\nLike aught that for its grace may be\\nDear, and yet dearer for its mystery.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "46 HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY\\nII\\nSpirit of Beauty, that dost consecrate\\nWith thine own hues all thou dost shine upon\\nOf human thought or form, where art thou gone\\nWhy dost thou pass away and leave our state.\\nThis dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate\\nAsk why the sunlight not forever\\nWeaves rainbows o er yon mountain river.\\nWhy aught should fail and fade that once is shown, 20\\nWhy fear and dream and death and birth\\nCast on the daylight of this earth\\nSuch gloom, why man has such a scope\\nFor love and hate, despondency and hope\\nIll\\nNo voice from some sublimer world hath ever\\nTo sage or poet these responses given\\nTherefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven,\\nRemain the records of their vain endeavor,\\nFrail spells whose uttered charm might not avail to\\nsever,\\nFrom all we hear and all we see, 30\\nDoubt, chance, and mutability.\\nThy light alone like mist o er mountains driven.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY 47\\nOr music by the night wind sent,\\nThrough strings of some still instrument,\\nOr moonlight on a midnight stream,\\nGives grace and truth to life s unquiet dream.\\nIV\\nLove, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart\\nAnd come, for some uncertain moments lent,\\nMan were immortal, and omnipotent.\\nDidst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, 40\\nKeep with thy glorious train firm state within his\\nheart.\\nThou messenger of sympathies.\\nThat wax and wane in lovers eyes\\nThou that to human thought art nourishment,\\nLike darkness to a dying flame\\nDepart not as thy shadow came.\\nDepart not lest the grave should be,\\nLike life and fear, a dark reality.\\nWhile yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped\\nThrough many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, 50\\nAnd starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing\\nHopes of high talk with the departed dead.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "48 HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY\\nI called on poisonous names with which our youth is\\nfed;\\nI was not heard I saw them not\\nWhen musing deeply on the lot\\nOf life, at the sweet time when winds are wooing\\nAll vital things that wake to bring\\nNews of birds and blossoming,\\nSudden, thy shadow fell on me\\nI shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy 60\\nVI\\nI vowed that I would dedicate my powers\\nTo thee and thine have I not kept the vow\\nWith beating heart and streaming eyes, even now\\nI call the phantoms of a thousand hours\\nEach from his voiceless grave they have in visioned\\nbowers\\nOf studious zeal or love s delight\\nOutwatched with me the envious night\\nThey know that never joy illumed my brow\\nUnlinked with hope that thou wouldst free\\nThis world from its dark slavery, 70\\nThat thou awful Loveliness,\\nWouldst give whatever these words cannot express.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING 49\\nVII\\nThe day becomes more solemn and serene\\nWhen noon is past there is a harmony\\nIn autumn, and a lustre in its sky,\\nWhich through the summer is not heard or seen,\\nAs if it could not be, as if it had not been\\nThus let thy power, which like the truth\\nOf nature on my passive youth\\nDescended, to my onward life supply 80\\nIts calm to one who worships thee.\\nAnd every form containing thee.\\nWhom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind\\nTo fear himself, and love all human kind.\\nTO CONSTANTIA, SINGING\\nThus to be lost and thus to sink and die.\\nPerchance were death indeed Constantia, turn\\nIn thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie.\\nEven though the sounds which were thy voice, which\\nburn\\nBetween thy lips, are laid to sleep;\\nWithin thy breath, and on thy hair, like odor it is yet.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "50 TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING\\nAnd from thy touch like fire doth leap.\\nEven while I write, my burning cheeks are wet\\nAlas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget\\n:^l\\nII\\nA breathless awe, like the swift change lo\\nUnseen, but felt in youthful slumbers,\\nWild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange.\\nThou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.\\nThe cope of heaven seems rent and cloven\\nBy the enchantment of thy strain.\\nAnd on my shoulders wings are woven,\\nTo follow its sublime career.\\nBeyond the mighty moons that wane\\nUpon the verge of nature s utmost sphere,\\nTill the world s shadowy walls are past and dis-\\nappear. 20\\nIII\\nHer voice is hovering o er my soul it lingers\\nO ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings,\\nThe blood and life within those snowy fingers\\nTeach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.\\nMy brain is wild, my breath comes quick\\nThe blood is listening in my frame,\\nAnd thronging shadows, fast and thick,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "HYMN OF APOLLO 51\\nFall on my overflowing eyes\\nMy heart is quivering like a flame\\nAs morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, 30\\nI am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.\\nIV\\nI have no life, Constantia, now, but thee.\\nWhilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song\\nFlows on, and fills all things with melody.\\nNow is thy voice a tempest swift and strong,\\nOn which, like one in trance upborne.\\nSecure o er rocks and waves I sweep,\\nEejoicing like a cloud of morn.\\nNow tis the breath of summer night,\\nWhich when the starry waters sleep, 40\\nRound western isles, with incense-blossoms bright.\\nLingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.\\nHYMN OF APOLLO\\nThe sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,\\nCurtained with star-inwoven tapestries,\\nFrom the broad moonlight of the sky.\\nFanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "52 HYMN OF APOLLO\\nWaken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn,\\nTells them that dreams and that the moon is gone.\\nII\\nThen I arise, and climbing Heaven s blue dome,\\nI walk over the mountains and the waves.\\nLeaving my robe upon the ocean foam\\nMy footsteps pave the clouds with fire the caves\\nAre filled with my bright presence, and the air n\\nLeaves the green earth to my embraces bare.\\nIll\\nThe sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill\\nDeceit, that loves the night and fears the day;\\nAll men who do or even imagine ill\\nFly me, and from the glory of my ray\\nGood minds and open actions take new might,\\nUntil diminished by the reign of night.\\nIV\\nI feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers\\nWith their ethereal colors; the Moon s globe 20\\nAnd the pure stars in their eternal bowers\\nAre cinctured with my power as with a robe", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "HYMN OF PAN 63\\nWhatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine,\\nAre portions of one power, which is mine.\\nV\\nI stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven,\\nThen with unwilling steps I wander down\\nInto the clouds of the Atlantic even\\nFor grief that I depart they weep and frown\\nWhat look is more delightful than the smile 29\\nWith which I soothe them from the western isle?\\nVI\\nI am the eye with which the Universe\\nBeholds itself and knows itself divine;\\nAll harmony of instrument or verse.\\nAll prophecy, all medicine are mine.\\nAll light of art or nature to my song,\\nVictory and praise in their own right belong.\\nHYMN OF PAN\\nI\\nFrom the forests and highlands\\nWe come, we come;\\nFrom the river-girt islands,\\nW^here loud waves are dumb", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "54 HYMN OF PAN\\nListening to my sweet pipings.\\nThe wind in the reeds and the rushes,\\nThe bees on the bells of thyme,\\nThe birds on the myrtle bushes,\\nThe cicale above in the lime,\\nAnd the lizards below in the grass, lo\\nWere as silent as ever old Tmolus was\\nListening to my sweet pipings.\\nII\\nLiquid Peneus was flowing.\\nAnd all dark Tempe lay\\nIn Pelion s shadow, outgrowing\\nThe light of the dying day.\\nSpeeded by my sweet pipings.\\nThe Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,\\nAnd the Nymphs of the woods and waves,\\nTo the edge of the moist river-lawns, 20\\nAnd the brink of the dewy caves.\\nAnd all that did then attend and follow\\nWere silent with love, as you now, Apollo,\\nWith envy of my sweet pipings.\\nIll\\nI sang of the dancing stars,\\nI sang of the daedal Earth,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "ARETHUSA 55\\nAnd of Heaven and the giant wars,\\nAnd Love, and Death, and Birth,\\nAnd then I changed my pipings,\\nSinging how down the vale of Menalus 30\\nI pursued a maiden and clasped a reed\\nGods and men, we are all deluded thus!\\nIt breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:\\nAll wept, as I think both ye now would.\\nIf envy or age had not frozen your blood.\\nAt the sorrow of my sweet pipings.\\nAKETHUSA\\n**Arethusa arose\\nFrom her couch of snows\\nIn the Acroceraunian mountains,\\nFrom cloud and from crag.\\nWith many a jag,\\nShepherding her bright fountains.\\nShe leaped down the rocks,\\nWith her rainbow locks\\nStreaming among the streams\\nHer steps paved with green 10", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "56 A RE THUS A\\nThe downward ravine\\nWhich slopes to the western gleams\\nAnd gliding and springing\\nShe went, ever singing,\\nIn murmurs as soft as sleep\\nThe earth seemed to love her^\\nAnd Heaven smiled above her,\\nAs she lingered towards the deep.\\nII\\nThen Alpheus bold,\\nOn his glacier cold, 20\\nWith his trident the mountains strook\\nAnd opened a chasm\\nIn the rocks with the spasm\\nAll Erymanthus shook.\\nAnd the black south wind\\nIt concealed behind\\nThe urns of the silent snow.\\nAnd earthquake and thunder\\nDid rend in sunder\\nThe bars of the springs below 30\\nThe beard and the hair\\nOf the River-god were\\nSeen through the torrent s sweep,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "ARETHUSA 57\\nAs he followed the light\\nOf the fleet nymph s flight\\nTo the brink of the Dorian deep.\\nIll\\nOh, save me Oh, guide me\\nAnd bid the deep hide me.\\nFor he grasps me now by the hair\\nThe loud Ocean heard, 40\\nTo its blue depth stirred,\\nAnd divided at her prayer\\nAnd under the water\\nThe Earth s white daughter\\nFled like a sunny beam\\nBehind her descended\\nHer billows, unblended\\nWith the brackish Dorian stream:\\nLike a gloomy stain\\nOn the emerald main 50\\nAlpheus rushed behind,\\nAs an eagle pursuing\\nA dove to its ruin\\nDown the streams of the cloudy wind.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "58 ARETUUSA\\nIV\\nUnder the bowers\\nWhere the Ocean Powers\\nSit on their pearled thrones,\\nThrough the coral woods\\nOf the weltering floods,\\nOver heaps of unvalued stones 60\\nThrough the dim beams\\nWhich amid the streams\\nWeave a network of colored light\\nAnd under the caves.\\nWhere the shadowy waves\\nArc as green as the forest s night\\nOutspeeding the shark.\\nAnd the sword-fish dark,\\nUnder the ocean foam.\\nAnd up through the rifts 70\\nOf the mountain clifts\\nThey pass to their Dorian home.\\nV\\nAnd now from their fountains\\nIn Enna s mountains,\\nDown one vale where the morning basks,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "SONG OF PROSERPINE 59.\\nLike friends once parted\\nGrown single-hearted,\\nThey ply their watery tasks.\\nAt sunrise they leap\\nFrom their cradles steep 80\\nIn the cave of the shelving hill j\\nAt noontide they flow\\nThrough the woods below\\nAnd the meadows of Asphodel\\nAnd at night they sleep\\nIn the rocking deep\\nBeneath the Ortygian shore\\nLike spirits that lie\\nIn the azure sky\\nWhen they love but live no more. 90\\nSONG OF PROSEHPINE\\nWHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA\\nSacred Goddess, Mother Earth,\\nThou from whose immortal bosom,\\nGods, and men, and beasts have birth,\\nLeaf and blade, and bud and blossom.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "60 SPIRIT OF DELIGHT\\nBreathe thine influence most divine\\nOn thine own child, Proserpine.\\nII\\nIf with mists of evening dew\\nThou dost nourish these young flowers\\nTill they grow, in scent and hue.\\nFairest children of the hours, lo\\nBreathe thine influence most divine\\nOn thine own child, Proserpine.\\nSONG\\nBarely, rarely, comest thou,\\nSpirit of Delight\\nWherefore hast thou left me now\\nMany a day and night\\nMany a weary night and day\\nTis since thou art fled away.\\nII\\nHow shall ever one like me\\nWin thee back again", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "SPIRIT OF DELIGHT 61\\nWith the joyous and the free\\nThou wilt scoff at pain. lo\\nSpirit false thou hast forgot\\nAll but those who need thee not.\\nIll\\nAs a lizard with the shad\\nOf a trembling leaf,\\nThou with sorrow art dismayed\\nEven the sighs of grief\\nKeproach thee, that thou art not near,\\nAnd reproach thou wilt not hear.\\nIV\\nLet me set my mournful ditty\\nTo a merry measure.\\nThou wilt never come for pity.\\nThou wilt come for pleasure.\\nPity then will cut away\\nThose cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.\\nI love all that thou lovest.\\nSpirit of Delight\\nThe fresh Earth in new leaves dressed.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "62 SPIRIT OF DELIGHT\\nAnd the starry night\\nAutumn evening, and the morn\\nWhen the golden mists are born. 30\\nVI\\nI love qnow and all the forms\\nOf the radiant frost\\nI love waves, and winds, and storms,\\nEvery thing almost\\nWhich is Nature s, and may be\\nUntainted by man s misery.\\nVII\\nI love tranquil solitude,\\nAnd such society\\nAs is quiet, wise, and good\\nBetween thee and me 40\\nWhat difference but thou dost possess\\nThe things I seek, not love them less.\\nVIII\\nI love Love though he has wings,\\nAnd like light can flee.\\nBut above all other things,\\nSpirit, I love thee", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 63\\nThou art love and life Oh come,\\nMake once more my heart thy home.\\nTO\\nMusic, when soft voices die.\\nVibrates in the memory\\nOdors, when sweet violets sicken.\\nLive within the sense they quicken.\\nRose leaves, when the rose is dead.\\nAre heaped for the beloved s bed\\nAnd so thy thoughts, when thou art gone\\nLove itself shall slumber on.\\nLINES\\nWRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nOctober, 1818\\nMany a green isle needs must be\\nIn the deep wide sea of misery,\\nOr the mariner, worn and wan,\\nKever thus could voyage on\\nDay and night, and night and day,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "64 THE ELQANEAN HILLS\\nDrifting on his dreary way,\\nWith the solid darkness black\\nClosing round his vessel s track\\nWhilst above, the sunless sky,\\nBig with clouds, hangs heavily, lo\\nAnd behind the tempest fleet\\nHurries on with lightning feet,\\nEiving sail, and cord, and plank.\\nTill the ship has almost drank\\nDeath from the o er-brimming deep\\nAnd sinks down, down, like that sleep\\nWhen the dreamer seems to be\\nWeltering through eternity\\nAtfd the dim low line before\\nOf a dark and distant shore 20\\nStill recedes, as ever still\\nLonging with divided will,\\nBut no power to seek or shun,\\nHe is ever drifted on\\nO er the unreposing wave\\nTo the haven of the grave.\\nWhat, if there no friends will greet\\nWhat, if there no heart will meet\\nHis with love s impatient beat\\nWander wheresoe er he may, 30", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS (66\\nCan he dream before that day\\nTo find refuge from distress\\nIn friendship s smile, in love s caress\\nThen twill wreak him little woe\\nWhether such there be or no\\nSenseless is the breast, and cold,\\nWhich relenting love would fold\\nBloodless are the veins and chill\\nWhich the pulse of pain did fill;\\nEvery little living nerve 40\\nThat from bitter words did swerve\\nRound the tortured lips and brow,\\nAre like sapless leaflets now\\nFrozen upon December s bough.\\nOn the beach of a northern sea\\nWhich tempests shake eternally,\\nAs once the wretch there lay to sleep,\\nLies a solitary heap.\\nOne white skull and seven dry bones\\nOn the margin of the stones, 50\\nWhere a few gray rushes stand\\nBoundaries of the sea and land\\nNor is heard one voice of wail\\nBut the sea-mews, as they sail", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "66 THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nO er the billows of the gale\\nOr the whirlwind up and down\\nHowling, like a slaughtered town,\\nWhen a king in glory rides\\nThrough the pomp of fratricides\\nThose unburied bones around 60\\nThere is many a mournful sound\\nThere is no lament for him,\\nLike a sunless vapor, dim.\\nWho once clothed with life and thought\\nWhat now moves nor murmurs not.\\nAye, many flowering islands lie\\nIn the waters of wide Agony\\nTo such a one this morn was led,\\nMy bark by soft winds piloted\\nMid the mountains Euganean 70\\nI stood listening to the psean,\\nWith which the legioned rooks did hail\\nThe sun s uprise majestical\\nGathering round with wings all hoar,\\nThrough the dewy mist they soar\\nLike gray shades, till the eastern heaven\\nBursts, and then, as clouds of even,\\nElecked with fire and azure, lie", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 67\\nIn the unfathomable sky,\\nSo their plumes of purple grain, 80\\nStarred with drops of golden rain,\\nGleam above the sunlight woods,\\nAs in silent multitudes\\nOn the morning s fitful gale\\nThrough the broken mist they sail.\\nAnd the vapors cloven and gleaming\\nFollow down the dark steep streaming.\\nTill all is bright, and clear, and still,\\nKound the solitary hill.\\nBeneath is spread like a green sea 90\\nThe waveless plain of Lombardy,\\nBounded by the vaporous air,\\nIslanded by cities fair\\nUnderneath day s azure eyes\\nOcean s nursling, Venice lies,\\nA peopled labyrinth of walls,\\nAmphitrite s destined halls.\\nWhich her hoary sire now paves\\nWith his blue and beaming waves.\\nLo the sun upsprings behind, 100\\nBroad, red, radiant, half reclined\\nOn the level quivering line", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "68 THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nOf the waters crystalline\\nAnd before that chasm of light,\\nAs within a furnace bright,\\nColumn, tower, and dome, and spire.\\nShine like obelisks of fire.\\nPointing with inconstant motion\\nFrom the altar of dark ocean\\nTo the sapphire-tinted skies\\nAs the flames of sacrifice\\nFrom the marble shrines did rise.\\nAs to pierce the dome of gold\\nWhere Apollo spoke of old.\\nSun-girt City, thou hast been\\nOcean s child, and then his queen\\nNow is come a darker day.\\nAnd thou soon must be his prey.\\nIf the power that raised thee here\\nHallow so thy watery bier.\\nA less drear ruin then than now.\\nWith thy conquest-branded brow\\nStooping to the \u00c2\u00b0slave of slaves\\nFrom thy throne, among the waves\\nWilt thou be, when the sea-mew\\nFlies, as once before it flew,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 69\\nO er thine isles depopulate,\\nAnd all is in its ancient state,\\nSave where many a palace gate\\nWith green sea-flowers overgrown 130\\nLike a rock of ocean s own,\\nTopples o er the abandoned sea\\nAs the tides change sullenly.\\nThe fisher on his watery way.\\nWandering at the close of day,\\nWill spread his sail and seize his oar\\nTill he pass the gloomy shore,\\nLest thy dead should, from their sleep\\nBursting o er the starlight deep,\\nLead a rapid masque of death 140\\nO er the waters of his path.\\nThose who alone thy towers behold\\nQuivering through aerial gold,\\nAs I now behold them here.\\nWould imagine not they were\\nSepulchres, where human forms,\\nLike pollution-nourished worms\\nTo the corpse of greatness cling,\\nMurdered, and now mouldering\\nBut if Freedom should awake 15\u00c2\u00a9", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "70 THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nIn her omnipotence, and shake\\nFrom the \u00c2\u00b0Celtic Anarch s hold\\nAll the keys of dungeons cold,\\nWhere a hundred cities lie\\nChained like thee, ingloriously,\\nThou and all thy sister band\\nMight adorn this sunny land,\\nTwining \u00c2\u00b0memories of old time\\nWith new virtues more sublime\\nIf not, perish thou and they, i6o\\nClouds which stain truth s rising day\\nBy her sun consumed away.\\nEarth can spare ye while like flowers,\\nIn the waste of years and hours.\\nFrom your dust new nations spring\\nWith more kindly blossoming.\\nPerish let there only be\\nFloating o er thy heartless sea\\nAs the garment of thy sky\\nClothes the world immortally, 170\\nOne remembrance, more sublime\\nThan the tattered pall of time,\\nWhich scarce hides thy visage wan\\nThat a \u00c2\u00b0tempest-cleaving Swan\\nOf the songs of Albion^", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 71\\nDriven from his ancestral streams\\nBy the might of \u00c2\u00b0evil dreams,\\nFound a nest in thee and Ocean\\nWelcomed him with such emotion\\nThat its joy grew his, and sprung ,80\\nFrom his lips like music flung\\nO er a mighty thunder-fit\\nChastening terror what though yet\\nPoesy s unfailing Kiver,\\nWhich through Albion winds forever\\nLashing with melodious wave\\nMany a sacred Poet s grave,\\nMourn its latest nursling fled\\nWhat though thou with all thy dead\\nScarce can for this fame repay 190\\nAught thine own oh, rather say\\nThough thy sins and slaveries foul\\nOvercloud a sun-like soul\\nAs the ghost of Homer clings\\nRound Scamander s wasting springs\\nAs divinest Shakespere s might\\nFills Avon and the world with light\\nLike omniscient power which he\\nImaged mid mortality\\nAs the love from Petrarch s urn, aoo", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "72 THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nYet amid yon hills doth burn,\\nA quenchless lamp by which the heart\\nSees things unearthly so thou art\\nMighty \u00c2\u00b0spirit so shall be\\nThe City that did refuge thee.\\nLo, the sun floats up the sky\\nLike thought-winged Liberty,\\nTill the universal light\\nSeems to level plain and height\\nFrom the sea a mist has spread,\\nAnd the beams of morn lie dead\\nOn the towers of Venice now,\\nLike its glory long ago.\\nBy the skirts of that gray cloud\\nMany-domed Padua proud\\nStands, a peopled solitude.\\nMid the harvest-shining plain.\\nWhere the peasant heaps his grain\\nIn the garner of his foe,\\nAnd the milk-white oxen slow\\nWith the purple vintage strain,\\nHeaped upon the creaking wain.\\nThat the brutal Celt may swill\\nDrunken sleep with savage will", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 73\\nAnd the sickle to the sword\\nLies unchanged, though many a lord,\\nLike a weed whose shade is poison,\\nOvergrows this region s foison,\\nSheaves of whom are ripe to come\\nTo destruction s harvest-home 230\\nMen must reap the things they sow.\\nForce from force must ever flow.\\nOr worse but tis a bitter woe\\nThat love or reason cannot change\\nThe despot s rage, the slave s revenge.\\nPadua, thou within whose walls\\nThose mute guests at festivals,\\nSon and Mother, Death and Sin,\\nPlayed at dice for Ezzelin,\\nTill Death cried, I win, I win 240\\nAnd Sin cursed to lose the wager,\\nBut Death promised, to assuage her,\\nThat he would petition for\\nHer to be made Vice-Emperor,\\nWhen the destined j^ears were o er\\nOver all between the Po\\nAnd the eastern Alpine snow,\\nUnder the mighty Austrian.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "74 THE EUOANEAN HILLS\\nSin smiled so as Sin only can,\\nAnd since that time, aye, long before, 250\\nBoth have ruled from shore to shore/\\nThat incestuous pair, who follow\\nTyrants as the sun the swallow,\\nAs Repentance follows Crime,\\nAnd as changes follow Time.\\nIn thine halls the lamp of learning,\\nPadua, now no more is burning\\nLike a meteor, whose wild way\\nIs lost over the grave of day.\\nIt gleams betrayed and to betray: 260\\nOnce remotest nations came\\nTo adore that sacred flame.\\nWhen it lit not many a hearth\\nOn this cold and gloomy earth\\nNow new fires from antique light\\nSpring beneath the wide world s might\\nBut their spark lies dead in thee,\\nTrampled out by tyranny.\\nAs the Norway woodman quells.\\nIn the depth of piny dells, 270\\nOne light flame among the brakes\\nWhile the boundless forest shakes.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE EUQANEAN HILLS 75\\nAnd its mighty trunks are torn\\nBy the fire thus lowly born\\nThe spark beneath his feet is dead,\\nHe starts to see the flames it fed\\nHowling through the darkened sky\\nWith a myriad tongues victoriously,\\nAnd sinks down in fear so thou,\\nTyranny beholdest now 280\\nLight around thee, and thou hearest\\nThe loud flames ascend, and f earest\\nGrovel on the earth aye, hide\\nIn the dust thy purple pride\\nNoon descends around me now\\nTis the noon of autumn s glow,\\nWhen a soft and purple mist\\nLike a vaporous amethyst.\\nOr an air dissolved star\\nMingling light and fragrance, far 290\\nFrom the curved horizon s bound\\nTo the point of heaven s profound,\\nFills the overflowing sky\\nAnd the plains that silent lie\\nUnderneath, the leaves unsodden\\nWhere the infant frost has trodden.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "76 THE BUG AN BAN HILLS\\nWith his morning-winged feet,\\nWhose bright print is gleaming yet\\nAnd the red and golden vines,\\nPiercing with their trellised lines 300\\nThe rough, dark-skirted wilderness\\nThe dun and bladed grass no less,\\nPointing from this hoary tower\\nIn the windless air the flower\\nGlimmering at my feet the line\\nOf the olive-sandalled Apennine\\nIn the south dimly islanded\\nAnd the Alps, whose snows are spread\\nHigh between the clouds and sun\\nAnd of living things each one 310\\nAnd my spirit which so long\\nDarkened this swift stream of song,\\nInterpenetrated lie\\nBy the glory of the sky\\nBe it love, light, harmony,\\nOdor, or the soul of all\\nWhich from heaven like dew doth fall\\nOr the mind which feeds this verse\\nPeopling the lone universe.\\nNoon descends, and after noon 320\\nAutumn s evening meets me soon,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE EUGANEAN HILLS 77\\nLeading the infantine moon,\\nAnd that one star, which to her\\nAhnost seems to minister\\nHalf the crimson light she brings\\nFrom the sunset s radiant springs\\nAnd the soft dreams of the morn\\n(Which like winged winds had borne\\nTo that silent isle, which lies\\nMid remembered agonies, 330\\nThe frail bark of this lone being,)\\nPass, to other sufferers fleeing.\\nAnd its ancient pilot, Pain,\\nSits beside the helm again.\\nOther flowering isles must be\\nIn the sea of life and agony\\nOther spirits float and flee\\nO er that gulf even now,, perhaps,\\nOn some rock the wild wave wraps,\\nWith folded wings they waiting sit 340\\nFor my bark, to pilot it\\nTo some calm and blooming cove,\\nWhere for me, and those I love,\\nMay a windless bower be built.\\nFar from passion, pain, and guilt,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "78 THE EUGANEAN HILLS\\nIn a dell mid lawny hills,\\nWhich the wild sea-murmur fills,\\nAnd soft sunshine, and the sound\\nOf old forests echoing round,\\nAnd the light and smell divine 350\\nOf all flowers that breathe and shine\\nWe may live so happy there,\\nThat the spirits of the air,\\nEnvying us, may even entice\\nTo our healing paradise\\nThe polluting multitude\\nBut their rage would be subdued\\nBy that clime divine and calm,\\nAnd the wind whose wings rain balm\\nOn the uplifted soul, and leaves 360\\nUnder which the bright sea heaves\\nWhile each breathless interval\\nIn their whisperings musical\\nThe inspired soul supplies\\nWith its own deep melodies,\\nAnd the love which heals all strife\\nCircling, like the breath of life,\\nAll things in that sweet abode\\nWith its own mild brotherhood\\nThey, not it, would change and soon 370", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "OZYMANDIAS 79\\nEvery sprite beneath the moon\\nWould repent its envy vain,\\nAnd the earth grow young again.\\nOZYMANDIAS\\nI MET a traveller from an ^antique land\\nWho said Two vast and trunkless legs of stone\\nStand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,\\nHalf sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown.\\nAnd wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command.\\nTell that its sculptor well those passions read\\nWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,\\nThe hand that mocked them and the heart that fed\\nAnd on the pedestal these words appear\\nMy name is Ozymandias, king of kings lo\\nLook on my works, ye Mighty, and despair\\nNothing beside remains. Eound the decay\\nOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bare\\nThe lone and level sands stretch \u00c2\u00b0far away.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "80 THE COLD EARTH ULEPT BELOW\\nLINES\\nThe cold earth slept below,\\nAbove the cold sky shone\\nAnd all around, with a chilling sound,\\nFrom caves of ice and fields of snow.\\nThe breath of night like death did flow\\nBeneath the sinking moon.\\nII\\nThe wintry hedge was black,\\nThe green grass was not seen,\\nThe birds did rest on the bare thorn s breast,\\nWhose roots, beside the pathway track, i\\nHad bound their folds o er many a crack,\\nWhich the frost had made between.\\nIll\\nThine eyes glowed in the glare\\nOf the moon s dying light\\nAs a fen-fire s beam on a sluggish stream.\\nGleams dimly, so the moon shone there,\\nAnd it yellowed the strings of thy raven hair,\\nThat shook in the wind of night.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "THE WORLD S WANDERERS 81\\nIV\\nThe moon made thy lips pale, beloved\\nThe wind made thy bosom chill 20\\nThe night did shed on thy dear head\\nIts frozen dew, and thou didst lie\\nWhere the bitter breath of the naked sky\\nMight visit thee at will.\\nTHE WOKLD S WANDEREES\\nTell me, thou star, whose wings of light\\nSpeed thee in thy fiery flight.\\nIn what cavern of the night\\nWill thy pinions close now\\nII\\nTell me, moon, thou pale and gray\\nPilgrim of heaven s homeless way,\\nIn what depth of night or day\\nSeekest thou repose now\\nIll\\nWeary wind, who wanderest\\nLike the world s rejected guest, 10", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "82 SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD\\nHast thou still some secret nest\\nOn the tree or billow\\nA SUMMER EVENING CHUECHYAED\\nLECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE\\nThe wind has swept from the wide atmosphere\\nEach vapor that obscured the sunset s ray\\nAnd pallid Evening twines its beaming hair\\nIn \u00c2\u00b0duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day\\nSilence and Twilight, unbeloved of men,\\nCreep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.\\nThey breathe their spells towards the departing day,\\nEncompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea\\nLight, sound, and motion own the potent sway,\\nResponding to the charm with its own mystery. lo\\nThe winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass\\nKnows not their gentle motions as they pass.\\nThou too, aerial Pile whose pinnacles\\nPoint from one shrine like pyramids of fire,\\nObeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells,\\nClothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD 83\\nAround whose lessening and invisible height\\nGather among the stars the clouds of night.\\nThe dead are sleeping in their sepulchres\\nAnd, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound 20\\nHalf sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs,\\nBreathed from their wormy beds all living things\\naround,\\nAnd mingling with the still night and mute sky\\nIts awful hush is felt inaudibly.\\nThus solemnized and softened, death is mild\\nAnd terrorless as this serenest night\\nHere could I hope, like some inquiring child\\nSporting on graves, that death did hide from human\\nsight\\nSweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep\\nThat loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. 30\\nTIME\\nUnfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,\\nOcean of Time, whose waters of deep woe\\nAre brackish with the salt of human tears\\nThou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow\\nClaspest the limits of mortality", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "84 TIME\\nAnd sick of prey, yet howling on for more,\\nVomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore\\nTreacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,\\nWho shall put forth on thee.\\nUnfathomable Sea?\\nTO NIGHT\\nSwiftly walk over the western wave,\\nSpirit of Night\\nOut of the misty eastern cave.\\nWhere all the long and lone daylight.\\nThou wo vest dreams of joy and fear,\\nWhich make thee terrible and dear,\\nSwift be thy flight\\nII\\nWrap thy form in a mantle gray,\\nStar-inwrought\\nBlind with thine hair the eyes of Day\\nKiss her until she be wearied out.\\nThen wander o er city, and sea, and land,\\nTouching all with thine opiate wand\\nCome, long sought", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "TO NIGHT 85\\nIII\\nWhen I arose and saw the dawn,\\nI sighed for thee\\nWhen light rode high, and the dew was gone,\\nAnd noon lay heavy on flower and tree.\\nAnd the weary day turned to his rest,\\nLingering like an unloved guest, 20\\nI sighed for thee.\\nIV\\nThy brother Death came, and cried,\\nWouldst thou me\\nThy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed.\\nMurmured like a noontide bee,\\nShall I nestle near thy side\\nWouldst thou me And I replied,\\nNo, not thee\\nV\\nDeath will come when thou art dead.\\nSoon, too soon 30\\nSleep will come when thou art fled\\nOf neither would I ask the boon\\nI ask of thee, beloved Night\\nSwift be thine approaching flight.\\nCome soon, soon!", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "86 S LAMENT\\nA LAMENT\\nI\\nWORLD life time\\nOn whose last steps I climb\\nTrembling at that where I had stood before\\nWhen will return the glory of your prime\\nNo more oh, never more\\nII\\nOut of the day and night\\nA joy has taken flight;\\nFresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,\\nMove my faint heart with grief, but with delight\\nNo more oh, never more lo\\nSTANZAS\\nWRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES\\nI\\nThe sun is warm, the sky is clear.\\nThe waves are dancing fast and bright,\\nBlue isles and snowy mountains wear\\nThe purple noon s transparent might,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "STANZAS 87\\nThe breath of the moist earth is light,\\nAround its unexpanded buds;\\nLike many a voice of one delight,\\nThe winds, the birds, the ocean floods.\\nThe City s voice itself is soft like Solitude s.\\nII\\nI see the Deep s untrampled floor lo\\nWith green and purple seaweeds strown\\nI see the waves upon the shore.\\nLike lights dissolved in star-showers, thrown:\\nI sit upon the sands alone,\\nThe lightning of the noontide ocean\\nIs flashing round me, and a tone\\nArises from its measured motion.\\nHow sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.\\nIll\\n,Alas! I have nor hope nor health,\\nNor piece within nor calm around, 20\\nNor that content surpassing wealth\\nThe sage in meditation found,\\nAnd walked with inward glory crowned\\nNor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.\\nOthers I see whom these surround", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "8i8L STANZAS\\nSmiling they live, and call life pleasure\\nTo me that cup has been dealt in another measure.\\nIV\\nYet now despair itself is mild,\\nEven as the winds and waters are\\nI could lie down like a tired child, 30\\nAnd weep away the life of care\\nWhich I have borne and yet must bear,\\nTill death like sleep might steal on me,\\nAnd I might feel in the warm air\\nMy cheek grow cold, and hear the sea\\nBreathe o er my dying brain its last monotony.\\nSome might lament that I were cold.\\nAs I, when this sweet day is gone.\\nWhich my lost heart, too soon grown old,\\nInsults with this untimely moan 40\\nThey might lament for I am one\\nWhom men love not, and yet regret.\\nUnlike this day, which, when the sun\\nShall on its stainless glory set.\\nWill linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "SONGS 89\\nSONGS FROM PKOMETHEUS UNBOUND\\nA VOICE IN THE AIR SINGING\\nLife of Life thy lips enkindle\\nWith their love the breath between them j\\nAnd thy smiles before they dwindle\\nMake the cold air fire then screen them\\nIn those looks, where whoso gazes\\nFaints, entangled in their mazes.\\nChild of Light thy limbs are burning\\nThrough the vest which seems to hide them\\nAs the radiant lines of morning\\nThrough the clouds ere they divide them lo\\nAnd this atmosphere divinest\\nShrouds thee wheresoe er thou shinest.\\nFair are others none beholds thee,\\nBut thy voice sounds low and tender\\nLike the fairest, for it folds thee\\nFrom the sight, that liquid splendor,\\nAnd all feel, yet see thee never^\\nAs I feel now, lost forever", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "90 SONGS\\nLamp of Earth where er thou movest\\nIts dim shapes are clad with brightness, 20\\nAnd the soul of whom thou lovest\\nWalk upon the winds with lightness,\\nTill they fail, as I am failing,\\nDizzy, lost, yet unbewailing\\nASIA\\nMy soul is an enchanted boat,\\nWhich, like a sleeping swan, doth float\\nUpon the silver waves of thy sweet singing\\nAnd thine doth like an angel sit\\nBeside a helm conducting it,\\nWhilst all the winds with melody are ringing.\\nIt seems to float ever, forever,\\nUpon that many-winding river.\\nBetween mountains, woods, abysses,\\nA paradise of wildernesses 10\\nTill, like one in slumber bound,\\nBorne to the ocean, I float down, around.\\nInto a sea profound, of everspreading sound\\nMeanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions\\nIn music s most serene dominions\\nCatching the winds that fan that happy heaven.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "SONGS 91\\nAnd we sail on, away, afar,\\nWithout a course, without a star,\\nBut, by the instinct of sweet music driven\\nTill through Elysian garden islets 20\\nBy thee, most beautiful of pilots.\\nWhere never mortal pinnance glided,\\nThe boat of my desire is guided\\nRealms where the air we breathe is love.\\nWhich in the winds and on the waves doth move,\\nHarmonizing this earth with what we feel above.\\nWe have past Age s icy caves,\\nAnd Manhood s dark and tossing waves.\\nAnd Youth s smooth ocean, smiling to betray\\nBeyond the glassy gulfs we flee 30\\nOf shadow-peopled Infancy,\\nThrough Death and Birth, to a diviner day\\nA paradise of vaulted bowers,\\nLit by downward-gazing flowers.\\nAnd watery paths that wind between\\nWildernesses calm and green,\\nPeopled by shapes too bright to see.\\nAnd rest, having beheld somewhat like thee\\nWhich walk upon the sea, and chant melodiously", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "92 ADONAIS\\nADONAIS\\nAN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS, AUTHOR\\nOF ENDYMION, HYPERION, ETC.\\nAcTT /ip TTplv fx^v iXafXTres ivl ^CooiaLv iQos\\nISvp 5^ davcdv Xd/jLirets ^ffirepos iv (pdifxevois.\\nPlato.\\nPREFACE\\n^dp/xaKov ijXOe, Bluv, ttotI (rhv aTdfxa, (pdpfxaKov eldes.\\nHcos rev Tots xeiXecrci TroT^dpa/xe, kovk iyXvKavdr]\\nTLs 5^ PpoTos ToaaovTov dva/xepoi, Kepdaai rot,\\nH 5ovvai \\\\a\\\\iovTi. jb (pdp/xaKOv eKcpvyev uddv.\\nMoscHus, Epitaph. Bion,\\nI WEEP for \u00c2\u00b0Adonais he is dead\\nOh, weep for Adonais though our tears\\nThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head\\nAnd thou, sad Hour, selected from all years\\nTo mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers.\\nAnd teach them thine own sorrow! Say: With me\\nDied Adonais till the future dares\\nForget the Past, his fate and fame shall be\\nAn echo and a light unto eternity", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 93\\nII\\nWhere wert thou, \u00c2\u00b0mighty Mother, when he lay, lo\\nWhen thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies\\nIn darkness where was lorn Urania\\nWhen Adonais died With veiled eyes,\\nMid listening Echoes, in her Paradise\\nShe sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath,\\nKekindled all the fading melodies.\\nWith which, like flowers that mock the corse be-\\nneath.\\nHe had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death.\\nIll\\nOh, weep for Adonais he is dead!\\nWake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep 20\\nYet wherefore Quench within their burning bed\\nThy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep\\nLike his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep\\nFor he is gone, where all things wise and fair\\nDescend oh, dream not that the amorous Deep\\nWill yet restore him to the vital air;\\nDeath feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our de-\\nspair.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "94 ADONAIS\\nIV\\nMost musical of mourners, weep again\\nLament anew, Urania I He died,\\nWho was the \u00c2\u00b0Sire of an immortal strain, 30\\nBlind, old, and lonely, when his country s pride,\\nThe priest, the slave, and the liberticide.\\nTrampled and mocked with many a loathed rite\\nOf lust and blood he went, unterrified,\\nInto the gulf of death but his clear Sprite\\nYet reigns o er earth the third among the sons of\\nlight.\\nMost musical of mourners, weep anew\\nNot all to that bright station dared to climb\\nAnd happier they their happiness who knew.\\nWhose tapers yet burn through that night of time 40\\nIn which suns perished others more sublime,\\nStruck by the envious wrath of man or God,\\nHave sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime\\nAnd some yet live, treading the thorny road.\\nWhich leads, through toil and hate, to Fame s serene\\nabode.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 95\\nVI\\nBut now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished,\\nThe nursling of thy widowhood, who grew.\\nLike a pale flower by some \u00c2\u00b0sad maiden cherished.\\nAnd fed with true-love tears, instead of dew\\nMost musical of mourners, weep anew 50\\nThy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last.\\nThe bloom, whose petals nipped before they blew\\nDied on the promise of the fruit, is waste\\nThe broken lily lies the storm is overpassed.\\nVII\\nTo that high Capital, where kingly Death\\nKeeps his pale court in beauty and decay,\\nHe came and bought, with price of purest breath,\\nA grave among the eternal. Come away\\nHaste, while the vault of blue Italian day\\nIs yet his fitting charnel-roof while still 60\\nHe lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay\\nAwake him not surely he takes his fill\\nOf deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.\\nVIII\\nHe will awake no more, oh, never more\\nWithin the twilight chamber spreads apace,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "96 ABONAIS\\nThe shadow of white Death, and at the door\\nInvisible Corruption waits to trace\\nHis extreme way to her dim dwelling-place\\nThe eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe\\nSoothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface 70\\nSo fair a prey, till darkness, and the law\\nOf change shall o er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.\\nIX\\nOh, weep for Adonais the \u00c2\u00b0quick Dreams,\\nThe passion-winged Ministers of thought,\\nWho were his flocks, whom near the living streams\\nOf his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught\\nThe love which was its music, wander not,\\nWander no more, from kindling brain to brain.\\nBut droop there, whence they sprung and mourn\\ntheir lot\\nRound the cold heart, where, after their sweet 80\\npain,\\nThey ne er will gather strength, or find a home again.\\nAnd one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,\\nAnd fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries j\\nOur love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 97\\nSee, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,\\nLike dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies\\nA tear some Dream has loosened from his brain.\\nLost angel of a ruined Paradise\\nShe knew not twas her own as with no stain\\nShe faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. 90\\nXI\\nOne from a lucid urn of starry dew\\nWashed his light limbs as if embalming them\\nAnother clipped her profuse locks, and threw\\nThe wreath upon him, like an anadem.\\nWhich frozen tears instead of pearls begem\\nAnother in her wilful grief would break\\nHer bow and winged reeds, as if to stem\\nA greater loss with one which was more weak\\nAnd dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.\\nXII\\nAnother Splendor on his mouth alit, 100\\nThat mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath\\nWhich gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,\\nAnd pass into the panting heart beneath\\nWith lightning and with music the damp death\\nQuenched its caress upon his icy lips\\nH", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "98 ADONAIS\\nAnd, as a dying meteor stains a wreath\\nOf moonlight vapor, which the cold night clips,\\nIt flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its\\neclipse.\\nXIII\\nAnd others came Desires and Adorations,\\nAVinged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, no\\nSplendors, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations\\nOf hopes and fears, and twilight Fantasies\\nAnd Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,\\nAnd Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam\\nOf her own dying smile instead of eyes.\\nCame in slow pomp the moving pomp might seem\\nLike pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.\\nXIV\\nAll he had loved, and moulded into thought.\\nFrom shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound,\\nLamented Adonais. Morning sought 120\\nHer eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound.\\nWet with the tears which should adorn the ground,\\nDimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day\\nAfar the melancholy thunder moaned.\\nPale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay.\\nAnd the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 99\\nXV\\nLost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,\\nAnd feeds her grief with his remembered lay,\\nAnd will no more reply to winds or fountains, 129\\nOr amorous birds perched on the young green spray.\\nOr herdman s horn, or bell at closing day;\\nSince she can mimic not his lips, more dear\\nThan those for whose disdain she pined away\\nInto a shadow of all sounds a drear\\nMurmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.\\nXVI\\nGrief made the young Spring wild, and she threw\\ndown\\nHer kindling buds, as if she Autumn were.\\nOr they dead leaves since her delight is flown\\nFor whom should she have waked the sullen year\\nTo Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear 140\\nNor to himself Narcissus, as to both\\nThou, Adonais wan they stand and sere\\nAmid the faint companions of their youth.\\nWith dew all turned to tears, odor, to sighing ruth.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "100 AD0NAI8\\nXVII\\nThy spirit s sister, the \u00c2\u00b0lorn nightingale,\\nMourns not her mate with such melodious pain\\nNot so the eagle, who like thee could scale\\nHeaven, and could nourish in the sun s domain\\nHer mighty youth with morning, doth complain.\\nSoaring and screaming round her empty nest, 150\\nAs Albion wails for thee the \u00c2\u00b0curse of Cain\\nLight on his head who pierced thy innocent breast,\\nAnd scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest\\nXVIII\\nAh, woe is me Winter is come and gone,\\nBut grief returns with the revolving year\\nThe airs and streams renew their joyous tone;\\nThe ants, the bees, the swallows reappear\\nFresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons\\nbier\\nThe amorous birds now pair in every brake,\\nAnd build their mossy homes in field and brere 160\\nAnd the green lizard, and the golden snake.\\nLike unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 101\\nXIX\\nThrough wood and stream and field and hill and\\nOcean\\nA quickening life from the Earth s heart has burst\\nAs it has ever done, with change and motion,\\nFrom the great morning of the world when first\\nGod dawned on Chaos in its stream immersed\\nThe lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light\\nAll baser things pant with life s sacred thirst\\nDiffuse themselves and spend in love s delight, 170\\nThe beauty and the joy of their renewed might.\\nXX\\nThe leprous corpse touched by this spirit tender\\nExhales itself in flowers of gentle breath\\nLike incarnations of the stars, when splendor\\nIs changed to fragrance, they illumine death\\nAnd mock the merry worm that wakes beneath\\nNaught we know, dies. Shall \u00c2\u00b0that alone which\\nknows\\nBe as a sword consumed before the sheath\\nBy sightless lightning? the intense atom glows\\nA moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose. 180", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "102 ADONAIS\\nXXI\\nAlas that all we loved of him should be,\\nBut for our grief, as if it had not been.\\nAnd grief itself be mortal Woe is me\\nWhence are we, and why are we of what scene\\nThe actors or spectators Great and mean\\nMeet massed in death, who lends what life must\\nborrow.\\nAs long as skies are blue, and fields are green,\\nEvening must usher night, night urge the morrow.\\nMonth follow month with woe, and year wake year to\\nsorrow.\\nXXII\\nHe will awake no more, oh, never more 190\\nWake thou, cried Misery, childless Mother, rise\\nOut of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart s core,\\nA wound more fierce than his with tears and sighs.\\nAnd all the Dreams that watched Urania s eyes.\\nAnd all the Echoes whom their sister s song\\nHad held in holy silence, cried Arise\\nSwift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung.\\nFrom her ambrosial rest the fading Splendor sprung.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 103\\nXXIII\\nShe rose like an autumnal Night, that springs\\nOut of the East, and follows wild and drear 200\\nThe golden Day, which, on eternal wings,\\nEven as a ghost abandoning a bier,\\nHas left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear\\nSo struck, so roused, so rapt Urania\\nSo saddened round her like an atmosphere\\nOf stormy mist so swept her on her way\\nEven to the mournful place where Adonais lay.\\nXXIV\\nOut of her secret Paradise she sped,\\nThrough camps and cities rough with stone, and\\nsteel,\\nAnd human hearts, which to her airy tread 210\\nYielding not, wounded the invisible\\nPalms of her tender feet where er they fell\\nAnd barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than\\nthey\\nKent the soft Form they never could repel,\\nWhose sacred blood, like the young tears of May,\\nPaved with eternal flowers that undeserving way.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "104 ADONAIS\\nXXV\\nIn the death chamber for a moment Death,\\nShamed by the presence of that living Might,\\nBlushed to annihilation, and the breath\\nRevisited those lips, and life s pale light 220\\nFlashed through those limbs, so late her dear delight.\\nLeave me not wild and drear and comfortless,\\nAs silent lightning leaves the starless night\\nLeave me not cried Urania her distress\\nEoused Death Death rose and smiled, and met her\\nvain caress.\\nXXVI\\nStay yet awhile speak to me once again\\nKiss me, so long but as a kiss may live\\nAnd in my heartless breast and burning brain\\nThat word, that kiss shall all thoughts else sur-\\nvive.\\nWith food of saddest memory kept alive, 230\\nNow thou art dead, as if it were a part\\nOf thee, my Adonais I would give\\nAll that I am to be as thou now art\\nBut I am chained to Time, and cannot thence de-\\npart I", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "ADOKAIS 105\\nXXVII\\ngentle child, beautiful as thou wert,\\nWhy didst thou leave the trodden paths of men\\nToo soon, and with weak hands though mighty\\nheart\\nDare the \u00c2\u00b0unpastured dragon in his den\\nDefenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then\\n\u00c2\u00b0Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear 240\\nOr hadst thou waited the full cycle, when\\nThy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere,\\nThe monsters of life s waste had fled from thee like\\ndeer.\\nXXVIII\\nThe herded wolves, bold only to pursue\\nThe obscene ravens, clamorous o er the dead\\nThe vultures to the conqueror s banner true\\nWho feed where Desolation first has fed.\\nAnd whose wings rain contagion how they fled.\\nWhen like Apollo, from his golden bow,\\nThe \u00c2\u00b0Pythian of the age one arrow sped 250\\nAnd smiled! The spoilers tempt no second blow.\\nThey fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying\\nlow.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "106 ADONAIS\\nXXIX\\nThe sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn\\nHe sets, -and each ephemeral insect then\\nIs gathered into death without a dawn,\\nAnd the immortal stars awake again\\nSo is it in the world of living men\\nA god-like mind soars forth, in its delight\\nMaking earth bare and veiling heaven, and when\\nIt sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its\\nlight 260\\nLeave to its kindred lamp the spirit s awful night.\\nXXX\\nThus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds\\ncame.\\nTheir garlands sere, their magic mantles rent\\nThe Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame\\nOver his living head like Heaven is bent.\\nAn early but enduring monument.\\nCame, veiling all the lightnings of his song\\nIn \u00c2\u00b0sorrow from her wilds lerne sent\\nThe \u00c2\u00b0sweetest lyrists of her saddest wrong,\\nAnd love taught grief to fall like music from his\\ntongue. 270", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 107\\nXXXI\\nMidst others of less note, came \u00c2\u00b0one frail Form,\\nA phantom among men companionless.\\nAs the last cloud of an expiring storm\\nWhose thunder is its knell he, as I guess,\\nHad gazed on Nature s naked loveliness,\\nActaeon-like, and now he fled astray\\nWith feeble steps o er the world s wilderness.\\nAnd his own thoughts, along that rugged way,\\nPursued, like raging hounds, their father and their\\nprey.\\nXXXII\\nA pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift 280\\nA Love in desolation masked a Power\\nGirt round with weakness it can scarce uplift\\nThe weight of the superincumbent hour\\nIt is a dying lamp, a falling shower,\\nA breaking billow even whilst we speak\\nIs it not broken On the withering flower\\nThe killing sun smiles brightly on a cheek\\nThe life can burn in blood, even while the heart may\\nbreak.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "108 ADONAIS\\nXXXIII\\nHis head was bound with pansies overblown,\\nAnd faded violets, white, and pied, and blue 290\\nAnd a light spear topped with a cypress cone.\\nRound whose rude shaft dark ivy tresses grew\\nYet dripping with the forest s noonday dew,\\nVibrated, as the ever beating heart\\nShook the weak hand that grasped it of that crew\\nHe came the last, neglected and apart\\nA herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter s dart.\\nXXXIV\\nAll stood aloof, and at his partial moan\\nSmiled through their tears well knew that gentle\\nband\\nWho in another s fate now wept his own 300\\nAs in the accents of an unknown land,\\nHe sung new sorrow sad Urania scanned\\nThe Stranger s mien, and murmured Who art\\nthou?\\nHe answered not, but with a sudden hand\\nMade bare his branded and ensanguined brow,\\nWhich was like Cain s or Christ s. Oh, that it should\\nbe so!", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 109\\nXXXV\\nWhat \u00c2\u00b0sbfter voice is hushed over the dead\\nAthwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?\\nWhat form leans sadly o er the white deathbed,\\nIn mockery of monumental stone, 310\\nThe heavy heart heaving without a moan\\nIf it be He, who, gentlest of the wise,\\nTaught, soothed, loved, honored the departed\\none\\nLet me not vex, with inharmonious sighs\\nThe silence of that heart s accepted sacrifice.\\nXXXVI\\nOur Adonais has drunk poison oh\\nWhat deaf and viperous murderer could crown\\nLife s early cup with such a draught of woe\\nThe nameless worm would now itself disown:\\nIt felt, yet could escape the magic tone 320\\nWhose prelude held all envy, hate, and wrong.\\nBut what was howling in one breast alone,\\nSilent with expectation of the song.\\nWhose master s hand is cold, whose silver lyre\\n_ unstrung.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "110 ADONAIS\\nXXXVII\\nLive thou, whose infamy is not thy fame\\nLive fear no heavier chastisement from me,\\nThou noteless blot on a remembered name\\nBut be thyself, and know thyself to be\\nAnd ever at thy season be thou free\\nTo spill the venom when thy fangs o erflow: 330\\nEemorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee\\nHot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow,\\nAnd like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt as now.\\nXXXVIII\\nKor let us weep that our delight is fled\\nFar from these carrion kites that scream below\\nHe wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead\\nThou canst not soar where he is sitting now.\\nDust to the dust but the pure spirit shall flow\\nBack to the burning fountain whence it came,\\nA ^portion of the Eternal, which must glow 340\\nThrough time and change, unquenchably the same.\\nWhilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of\\nshame.\\nXXXIX\\nPeace, peace he is not dead, he doth not sleep\\nHe hath awakened from the dream of life", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 111\\nTis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep\\nWith phantoms an unprofitable strife.\\nAnd in mad trance, strike with our spirit s knife\\nInvulnerable nothings. We decay\\nLike corpses in a charnel fear and grief\\nConvulse us and consume us day by day, 350\\nAnd cold hopes swarm like worms within our living\\nclay.\\nXL\\nHe has outsoared the shadow of our night\\nEnvy and calumny and hate and pain,\\nAnd that unrest, which men miscall delight,\\nCan touch him not and torture not again\\nFrom the contagion of the world s slow stain\\nHe is \u00c2\u00b0secure, and now can never mourn\\nA heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain\\nNor, when the spirit s self has ceased to burn,\\nWith sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. 360\\nXLI\\nHe lives, he wakes tis Death is dead, not he\\nMourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,\\nTurn all thy dew to splendor, for from thee\\nThe spirit thou lamentest is not gone\\nYe caverns and ye forests, cease to moan", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "112. AD ON A IS\\nCease ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air\\nWhich like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown\\nO er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare\\nEven to the joyous stars which smile on its despair\\nXLII\\nHe is made one with Nature there is heard 370\\nHis voice in all her music, from the moan\\nOf thunder to the song of night s sweet bird\\nHe is a presence to be felt and known\\nIn darkness and in light, from herb and stone,\\nSpreading itself where er that Power may move\\nWhich has withdrawn his being to its own\\nWhich wields the world with never wearied love,\\nSustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.\\nXLIII\\nHe is a portion of the loveliness\\nWhich once he made more lovely he doth bear 380\\nHis part, while the one Spirit s plastic stress\\nSweeps through the dull dense world, compelling\\nthere\\nAll new successions to the forms they wear\\nTorturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight\\nTo its own likeness, as each mass may bear", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 113\\nAnd bursting in its beauty and its might\\nFrom trees and beasts and men into the Heaven s light.\\nXLIV\\nThe splendors of the firmament of time\\nMay be eclipsed, but are extinguished not;\\nLike stars to their appointed height they climb, 390\\nAnd death is a low mist which cannot blot\\nThe brightness it may veil. When lofty thought\\nLifts a young heart above its \u00c2\u00b0mortal lair,\\nAnd love and life contend in it, for what\\nShall be its earthly doom, the dead live there\\nAnd move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.\\nXLV\\nThe inheritors of unfulfilled renown\\nEose from their thrones, built beyond mortal\\nthought,\\nFar in the Unapi^arent. \u00c2\u00b0Chatterton\\nRose pale, his solemn agony had not 400\\nYet faded from him ^Sidney, as he fought\\nAnd as he fell and as he lived and loved\\nSublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,\\nArose and \u00c2\u00b0Lucan, by his death approved r\\nOblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "114 ADONAIS\\nXL VI\\nAnd many more, whose names on Earth are dark,\\nBut whose transmitted effluence cannot die\\nSo long as fire outlives the parent spark,\\nKose, robed in dazzling immortality.\\nThou art become as one of us, they cry, 410\\nIt was for thee yon kingless sphere has long\\nSwung blind in unascended majesty,\\nSilent alone, amid an \u00c2\u00b0Heaven of Song.\\nAssume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our\\nthrong\\nXLVII\\nWho mourns for Adonais Oh, come forth.\\nFond \u00c2\u00b0wretch and know thyself and him aright.\\nClasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth\\nAs from a centre, dart thy spirit s light\\nBeyond all worlds, until its spacious might\\nSatiate the void circumference then shrink 420\\nEven to a point within our day and night\\nAnd keep thj^ heart light lest it make thee sink\\nWhen hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the\\nbrink.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS 115\\nXL VIII\\nOr go to Kome, which is the sepulchre\\nOh! not of him, but of our joy tis naught\\nThat ages, empires, and religions there\\nLie buried in the ravage they have wrought\\nFor such as he can lend, they borrow not\\nGlory from those who made the world their prey\\nAnd he is gathered to the kings of thought 430\\nWho waged contention with their time s decay,\\nAnd of the past are all that cannot pass away.\\nXLIX\\nGo thou to Kome, at once the Paradise,\\nThe grave, the city, and the wilderness\\nAnd where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise.\\nAnd flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress\\nThe bones of Desolation s nakedness\\nPass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead\\nThy footsteps to a slope of green access\\nWhere, like an infant s smile, over the dead, 440\\nA light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread.\\nL\\nAnd gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time\\nFeeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "116 ADONAIS\\nAnd one \u00c2\u00b0keen pyramid with wedge sublime,\\nPavilioning the dust of him who planned\\nThis refuge for his memory, doth stand\\nLike flame transformed to marble and beneath,\\nA field is spread, on which a newer band\\nHave pitched in Heaven s smile their camp of death\\nWelcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished\\nbreath. 45\u00c2\u00b0\\nLI\\nHere pause these graves are all too young as yet\\nTo have outgrown the sorrow which consigned\\nIts charge to each and if the seal is set.\\nHere, on one fountain of a mourning mind.\\nBreak it not thou too surely shalt thou find\\nThine own well full, if thou returnest home.\\nOf tears and gall. From the world s bitter wind\\nSeek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.\\nWhat Adonais is, why fear we to become\\nLII\\nThe One remains, the many change and pass 460\\nHeaven s light forever shines, Earth s shadows fly\\nLife, like a dome of many-colored glass,\\nStains the white radiance of Eternity,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "ADONAIS ii?\\nUntil Death tramples it to fragments. Die,\\nIf thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek\\nFollow where all is fled Rome s azure sky,\\nFlowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak\\nThe glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak\\nLTII\\nWhy linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart\\nThy hopes are gone before from all things here 470\\nThey have departed thou shouldst now depart\\nA light is passed from the revolving year.\\nAnd man, and woman; and what still is dear\\nAttracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.\\nThe soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near\\nTis Adonais calls oh, hasten thither,\\nNo more let Life divide what Death can join together.\\nLIV\\nThat Light whose smile kindles the Universe,\\nThat Beauty in which all things work and move,\\nThat Benediction which the eclipsing Curse 480\\nOf birth can quench not, that sustaining Love\\nWhich through the web of being blindly wove\\nBy man and beast and earth and air and sea,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "118 ADONAIS\\nBurns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of\\nThe fire for which all thirst now beams on me,\\nConsuming the last clouds of cold mortality.\\nLV\\nThe breath whose might I have invoked in song\\nDescends on me my spirit s bark is driven\\nFar from the shore, far from the trembling throng\\nWhose sails were never to the tempest given 490\\nThe massy earth and sphered skies are riven\\nI am borne darkly, fearfully, afar\\nWhilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,\\nThe soul of Adonais, like a star,\\nBeacons from the abode where the Eternal are.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "POEMS FROM KEATS\\nODE TO A NIGHTINGALE\\nMy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains\\nMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,\\nOr emptied some dull opiate to the drains\\nOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk\\nTis not through envy of thy happy lot.\\nBut being too happy in thine happiness,\\nThat thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,\\nIn some melodious plot\\nOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,\\nSingest of summer in full-throated case. lo\\nII\\n0, for a draught of vintage that hath been\\nCooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,\\nTasting of Flora and the country green,\\nDance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth\\n119", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "120 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE\\n0, for a beaker full of the warm South,\\nFull of the true, the blushful \u00c2\u00b0Hippocrene,\\nWith beaded bubbles winking at the brim,\\nAnd purple-stained mouth\\nThat I might drink, and leave the world unseen.\\nAnd with thee fade away into the forest dim 20\\nIII\\nFade far away, dissolve, and quite forget\\nWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,\\nThe weariness, the fever, and the fret\\nHere, where men sit and hear each other groan j\\nWhere palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs.\\nWhere youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;\\n^tere but to think is to be full of sorrow\\nAnd leaden-eyed despairs,\\nWhere Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,\\nOr new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30\\nIV\\nAway! away! fori will fly to thee.\\nNot charioted by Bacchus and his pards,\\nBut on the viewless wings of Poesy,\\nThough the dull brain perplexes and retards", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 121\\nAlready with thee tender is the night,\\nAnd haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,\\nClustered around by all her starry Pays\\nBut here there is no light.\\nSave what from heaven is with the breezes blown\\nThrough verdurous glooms and winding mossy\\nways. 40\\nV\\nI cannot see what flowers are at my feet,\\nNor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,\\nBut, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet\\nWherewith the seasonable month endows\\nThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild\\nWhite hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine\\nFast-fading violets covered up in leaves\\nAnd mid-May s eldest child.\\nThe coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine.\\nThe murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 50\\nVI\\nDarkling I listen and for many a time\\nI have been half in love with easeful Death,\\nCalled him soft names in many a mused rhyme,\\nTo take into the air my quiet breath j", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "122 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE\\nNow more than ever seems it rich to die,\\nTo cease upon the midnight with no pain,\\nWhile thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad\\nIn such an ecstasy\\nStill would st thou sing, and I have ears in vain\\nTo thy high requiem become a sod. 60\\nVII\\nThou wast not born for death, immortal Bird\\nNo hungry generations tread thee down\\nThe voice I hear this passing night was heard\\nIn ancient days by emperor and clown\\nPerhaps the self-same song that found a path\\nThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,\\nShe stood in tears amid the alien corn\\nThe same that oft-times hath\\nCharmed magic casements, opening on the foam\\nOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70\\nVIII\\nForlorn the very word is like a bell\\nTo toll me back from thee to my sole self\\nAdieu the fancy cannot cheat so well\\nAs she is famed to do, deceiving elf.\\nAdieu adieu thy plaintive anthem fades", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 123\\nPast the near meadows, over the still stream,\\nUp the hill-side and now tis buried deep\\nIn the next valley -glades\\nWas it a vision, or a waking dream\\nFled is that music Do I wake or sleep 80\\nODE ON A GRECIAN UEN\\nThou still unravished bride of quietness\\nThou foster-child of silence and slow time,\\nSylvan historian, who canst thus express\\nA flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme\\nWhat leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape\\nOf deities or mortals, or of both.\\nIn Tempe or the dales of Arcady\\nWhat men or gods are these W^hat maidens loath\\nWhat mad pursuit What struggle to escape\\nWhat pipes and timbrels What wild ecstasy 10\\nII\\nHeard melodies are sweet, but those unheard\\nAre sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on\\nNot to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "124 ODE TO A GRECIAN URN\\nPipe to the spirit ditties of no tone\\nFair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave\\nThy song, nor ever can those trees be bare\\nBold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,\\nThough winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;\\nShe cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,\\nForever wilt thou love, and she be fair 20\\nIII\\nAh, happy, happy boughs that cannot shed\\nYour leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu\\nAnd, happy melodist, unwearied.\\nForever piping songs forever new\\nMore happy love more happy, happy love\\nForever warm and still to be enjoyed.\\nForever panting, and forever young\\nAll breathing human passion far above.\\nThat leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,\\nA burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 30\\nIV\\nWho are these coming to the sacrifice\\nTo what green altar, mysterious priest,\\nLead st thou that heifer lowing at the skies.\\nAnd all her silken flanks with garlands dressed", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "ODE TO A GRECIAN URN 125\\nWhat little town by river or seashore,\\nOr mountain-built with peaceful citadel,\\nIs emptied of this folk, this jjious morn\\nAnd, little town, thy streets for evermore\\nWill silent be and not a soul to tell\\nWhy thou art desolate, can e er return. 40\\nAttic shape Fair attitude w4th brede\\nOf marble men and maidens overwrought.\\nWith forest branches and the trodden weed\\nThou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought\\nAs doth eternity Cold Pastoral\\nWhen old age shall this generation waste.\\nThou shalt remain, in midst of other woe\\nThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say st,\\nBeauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all\\nYe know on earth, and all ye need to know. 50\\nODE TO PSYCHE\\nGrODDESS hear these tuneless numbers, wrung\\nBy sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,\\nAnd pardon that thy secrets should be sung\\nEven into thine own soft-conched ear", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "126 ODE TO PSYCHE\\nSurely I dreamt to-day, or did I see\\nThe winged Psyche with awakened eyes\\nI wandered in a forest thoughtlessly,\\nAnd, on the sudden, fainting with surprise.\\nSaw \u00c2\u00b0two fair creatures, couched side by side\\nIn deepest grass, beneath the whisp ring roof\\nOf leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran\\nA brooklet, scarce espied\\nMid hushed, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,\\nBlue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,\\nThey lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass\\nTheir arms embraced, and their pinions too;\\nTheir lips touched not, but had not bade adieu,\\nAs if disjoined by soft-handed slumber.\\nAnd ready still past kisses to outnumber\\nAt tender eye-dawn of aurorean love\\nThe winged boy I knew\\nBut who wast thou, happy, happy dove\\nHis Psyche true\\nO latest born and loveliest vision far\\nOf all Olympus faded hierarchy\\nFairer than Phoebe s sapphire-regioned star.\\nOr Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "ODE TO PSYCHE 127\\nFairer than these, though temple thou hast none,\\nNor altar heaped with flowers\\nNor virgin-choir to make delicious moan 30\\nUpon the midnight hours\\nNo voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet\\nFrom chain-swung censer teeming\\nNo shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat\\nOf pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.\\nbrightest though too late for antique vows,\\nToo, too late for the fond believing lyre,\\nWhen holy were the haunted forest boughs,\\nHoly the air, the water, and the fire j\\nYet even in these days so far retired 40\\nFrom happy pieties, thy lucent fans,\\nFluttering among the faint Olympians,\\n1 see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.\\nSo let me be thy choir, and make a moan\\nUpon the midnight hours\\nThy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet\\nFrom swinged censer teeming\\nThy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat\\nOf pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.\\nYes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane 50\\nIn some untrodden region of my mind,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "128 ODE TO PSYCHE\\nWhere branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant\\npain,\\nInstead of pines shall murmur in the wind:\\nFar, far around shall those dark-clustered trees\\nFledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep\\nAnd there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,\\nThe moss-lain Dryads shall be lulled to sleep\\nAnd in the midst of this wide quietness\\nA rosy sanctuary will I dress\\nWith the wreathed trellis of a working brain, 60\\nWith buds, and bells, and stars without a name,\\nWith all the gardener Fancy e er could feign.\\nWho breeding flowers, will never breed the same\\nAnd there shall be for thee all soft delight\\nThat shadowy thought can win,\\nA bright torch, and a casement ope at night.\\nTo let the warm Love in\\nTO AUTUMN\\nSeason of mists and mellow fruitfulness.\\nClose bosom-friend of the maturing sun\\nConspiring with him how to load and bless\\nWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "TO AUTUMN 129\\nTo bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,\\nAnd fill all fruit with ripeness to the core\\nTo swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells\\nWith a sweet kernel to set budding more.\\nAnd still more, later flowers for the bees.\\nUntil they think warm days will never cease, lo\\nFor Summer has o er-brimmed their clammy cells.\\nII\\nWho hath not seen thee oft amid thy store\\nSometimes whoever seeks abroad may find\\n\u00c2\u00b0Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,\\nThy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;\\nOr on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,\\nDrowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook\\nSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers\\nAnd sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep\\nSteady thy laden head across a brook 20\\nOr by a cider-press, with patient look.\\nThou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.\\nIll\\nWhere are the songs of Spring Aye, where are they\\nThink not of them, thou hast thy music too,\\nWhile barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "130 TO AUTUMN\\nAnd touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;\\nThen in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn\\nAmong the river sallows, borne aloft\\nOr sinking as the light wind lives or dies 29\\nAnd full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn\\nHedge-crickets sing and now with treble soft\\nThe red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;\\nAnd gathering swallows twitter in the skies.\\nODE ON MELANCHOLY\\nNo, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist\\nWolf s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine\\nNor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed\\nBy nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine\\nMake not your rosary of yew-berries,\\nNor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be\\nYour mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl\\nA partner in your sorrow s mysteries\\nFor shade to shade will come too drowsily,\\nAnd drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. 10", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "ODE ON MELANCHOLY 131\\nII\\nBut when the melancholy fit shall fall\\nSudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,\\nThat fosters the droop-headed flowers all,\\nAnd hides the green hill in an April shroud\\nThen glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,\\nOr on the rainbow of the salt sand- wave.\\nOr on the wealth of globed peonies\\nOr if thy mistress some rich anger shows,\\nEm prison her soft hand, and let her rave.\\nAnd feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. 20\\nIII\\nShe dwells with Beauty Beauty that must die\\nAnd Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips\\nBidding adieu and aching Pleasure nigh,\\nTurning to poison while the bee-mouth sips\\nAye, in the very temple of Delight\\nVeiled Melancholy has her \u00c2\u00b0sovran shrine,\\nThough seen of none save him whose strenuous\\ntongue\\nCan burst Joy s grape against his palate fine\\nHis soul shall taste the sadness of her might.\\nAnd be among her cloudy trophies hung. 30", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "132 FANCY\\nFANCY\\nEver let the Fancy roam,\\nPleasure never is at home\\nAt a touch sweet Pleasure melteth.\\nLike to bubbles when rain pelteth\\nThen let winged Fancy wander 5\\nThrough the thought still spread beyond her\\nOpen wide the mind s cage-door,\\nShe ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.\\nO sweet Fancy let her loose\\nSummer s joys are spoilt by use, lo\\nAnd the enjoying of the Spring\\nFades as does its blossoming;\\nAutumn s red-lipped fruitage too,\\nBlushing through the mist and dew,\\nCloys with tasting What do then\\nSit thee by the ingle, when\\nThe sear faggot blazes bright,\\nSpirit of a winter s night\\nWhen the soundless earth is muffled,\\nAnd the caked snow is shuffled 20\\nFrom the ploughboy s \u00c2\u00b0heavy shoon\\nWhen the Night doth meet the Noon\\nIn a dark conspiracy", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "FANCY 133\\nTo banish Even from her sky.\\nSit thee there, and send abroad,\\nWith a mind self-overawed,\\nFancy, high-commissioned send her\\nShe has vassals to attend her\\nShe will bring, in spite of frost,\\nBeauties that the earth hath lost; 30\\nShe will bring thee, altogether.\\nAll delights of summer weather\\nAll the buds and bells of May,\\nFrom dewy sward or thorny spray\\nAll the heaped Autumn s wealth,\\nWith a still, mysterious stealth\\nShe will mix these pleasures up\\nLike three fit wines in a cup,\\nAnd thou shalt quaff it thou shalt hear\\nDistant harvest-carols clear 40\\nRustle of the reaped corn\\nSweet birds antheming the morn:\\nAnd, in the same moment hark\\nTis the early April lark,\\nOr the rooks, with busy caw.\\nForaging for \u00c2\u00b0sticks and straw.\\nThou shalt, at one glance, behold\\nThe daisy and the marigold", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "134 FANCY\\nWhite-plumed lilies, and the first\\nHedge-grown primrose that hath burst 50\\nShaded hyacinth, alway\\nSapphire queen of the mid-May\\nAnd every leaf, and every flower\\nPearled with the self-same shower.\\nThou shalt see the field-mouse peep\\nMeagre from its celled sleep;\\nAnd the snake all winter-thin\\nCast on sunny bank its skin;\\nFreckled nest-eggs thou shalt see\\nHatching in the hawthorn-tree, 60\\nWhen the hen-bird s wing doth rest\\nQuiet on her mossy nest\\nThen the hurry and alarm\\nWhen the bee-hive cast its swarm\\nAcorns ripe down-pattering,\\nWhile the autumn breezes sing.\\nOh, sweet Fancy let her loose\\nEverything is spoilt by use\\nWhere s the cheek that doth not fade,\\nToo much gazed at Where s the maid 70\\nWhose lip mature is ever new\\nWhere s the eye, however blue,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "FANCY 135\\nDoth not weary Where s the face\\nOne would meet in every place\\nWhere s the voice, however soft,\\nOne would hear so very oft\\nAt a touch sweet Pleasure melteth\\nLike to bubbles when rain pelteth.\\nLet, then, winged Fancy find\\nThee a mistress to thy mind 80\\nDulcet-eyed as \u00c2\u00b0Ceres daughter,\\nEre the God of Torment taught her\\nHow to frown and how to chide\\nWith a waist and with a side\\nWhite as Hebe s, when her zone\\nSlipped its golden clasp, and down\\nFell her kirtle to her feet.\\nWhile she held the goblet sweet,\\nAnd Jove grew languid. Break the mesh\\nOf the Fancy s silken leash 90\\nQuickly break her prison-string\\nAnd such joys as these she ll bring.\\nLet the winged Fancy roam,\\nPleasure never is at home.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "136 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI\\nLA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI\\nAh, wliat can ail thee, knight-at-arms,\\nAlone and palely loitering\\nThe sedge is withered from the lake,\\nAnd no birds sing.\\nII\\nAh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,\\nSo haggard and so woe-begone\\nThe squirrel s granary is full,\\nAnd the harvest s done.\\nIll\\nI see a lily on thy brow.\\nWith anguish moist and fever dew\\nAnd on thy cheek a fading rose\\nFast withereth too.\\nIV\\nI met a lady in the meads.\\nFull beautiful, a faery s child\\nHer hair was long, her foot was light,\\nAnd her eyes were wild.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI l37\\nI set her on my pacing steed,\\nAnd nothing else saw all day long;\\nFor sideways would she lean, and sing\\nA faery s song. 20\\nVI\\nI made a garland for her head,\\nAnd bracelets too, and fragrant zone\\nShe looked at me as she did love,\\nAnd made sweet moan.\\nVII\\nShe found me roots of relish sweet,\\nAnd honey wild, and manna dew\\nAnd sure in language strange she said,\\nI love thee true.\\nVIII\\nShe took me to her elfin grot.\\nAnd there she gazed and sighed deep, 30\\nAnd there I shut her wild sad eyes\\nSo kissed to sleep.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "138 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI\\nIX\\nAnd there we slumbered on the moss,\\nAnd there I dreamed, ah woe betide,\\nThe latest dream I ever dreamed\\nOn the cold hill side.\\nI saw pale kings, and princes too.\\nPale warriors, death-pale were they all\\nWho cried La Belle Dame sans Merci\\nHath thee in thrall 40\\nXI\\nI saw their starved lips in the gloom\\nWith horrid warning gaped wide,\\nAnd I awoke, and found me here\\nOn the cold hill side.\\nXII\\nAnd this is why I sojourn here\\nAlone and palely loitering,\\nThough the sedge is withered from the lake,\\nAnd no birds sing.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "SOLITUDE 139\\nSOLITUDE\\nSOLITUDE if I must with thee dwell,\\nLet it not be among the jumbled heap\\nOf murky buildings; climb with me to the steep,\\nNature s observatory whence the dell,\\nIts flowery slopes, its river s crystal swell.\\nMay seem a span let me thy vigils keep\\nMongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer s swift\\nleap\\nStartles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.\\nBut though I ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,\\nYet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, lo\\nWhose words are images of thoughts refined,\\nIs my soul s pleasure and it sure must be\\nAlmost the highest bliss of human-kind.\\nWhen to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.\\nON FIEST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN S\\nHOMER\\nMuch have I traveled in the realms of gold.\\nAnd many goodly states and kingdoms seen\\nRound many western islands have I been\\nWhich bards in fealty to Apollo hold.\\nOft of one wide expanse had I been told", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "140 ON THE SEA\\nThat deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne\\nYet did I never breathe its pure serene\\nTill I heard \u00c2\u00b0Chapman speak out loud and bold\\nThen felt I like some watcher of the skies\\nWhen a new planet swims into his ken k\\nOr like stout \u00c2\u00b0Cortez when with eagle eyes\\nHe stared at the Pacific and all his men\\nLooked at each other with a wild surmise\\nSilent, upon a peak in Darien.\\nON THE SEA\\nIt keeps eternal whisperings around\\nDesolate shores, and with its mighty swell\\nGluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell\\nOf Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.\\nOften tis in such gentle temper found,\\nThat scarcely will the very smallest shell\\nBe moved for days from whence it sometime fell,\\nWhen last the winds of heaven were unbound.\\nOh ye who have your eye-balls vexed and tired.\\nFeast them upon the wideness of the Sea i\\nOh ye whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,\\nOr fed too much with cloying melody,\\nSit ye near some old cavern s mouth, and brood\\nUntil ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "TWO SONNETS ON FAME 141\\nTWO SONNETS ON FAME\\nFame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy\\nTo those who woo her with too slavish knees,\\nBut makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,\\nAnd dotes the more upon a heart at ease\\nShe is a Gipsy, will not speak to those\\nWho have not learnt to be content without her\\nA Jilt, whose ear was never whispered close,\\nWho thinks they scandal her who talk about\\nher\\nA very Gipsy is she, Nilus-born,\\nSister-in-law to jealous Potiphar; lo\\nYe love-sick Bards, repay her scorn for scorn,\\nYe Artists lovelorn, madmen that ye are\\nMake your best bow to her and bid adieu,\\nThen, if she likes it, she will follow you.\\nII\\nYou cannot eat your cake and have it too. Proverb.\\nHow fevered is the man, who cannot look\\nUpon his mortal days with temperate blood.\\nWho vexes all the leaves of his life s book,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "142 SONNET TO SLEEP\\nAnd robs his fair name of its maidenhood\\nIt is as if the rose should phick herself,\\nOr the ripe plum liuger its misty bloom, ac\\nAs if a Naiad, like a meddling elf,\\nShould darken her pure grot with muddy gloom.\\nBut the rose leaves herself upon the brier.\\nFor winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed,\\nAnd the ripe plum still w^ears its dim attire.\\nThe undisturbed lake has crystal space,\\nWhy then should man, teasing the world for grace,\\nSpoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed\\nSONNET TO SLEEP\\nSOFT embalmer of the still midnight,\\nShutting with careful fingers and benign.\\nOur gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,\\nEnshaded in forgetfulness divine\\nO soothest Sleep if so it please thee, close.\\nIn midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,\\nOr wait the amen, ere thy poj^py throws\\nAround my bed its lulling charities\\nThen save me, or the passed day will shine\\nUpon my pillow, breeding many woes, i\\nSave me from curious conscience, that still lords", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "SONNET TO HOMER 143\\nIts strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole j\\nTurn the key deftly in the oiled wards,\\nAnd seal the hushed casket of my soul.\\nSONNET TO HOMER\\nStanding aloof in \u00c2\u00b0giant ignorance,\\nOf thee I hear and of the Cyclades,\\nAs one who sits ashore and longs perchance\\nTo visit Dolphin-coral in deep seas.\\nSo thou wast blind but then the veil was rent,\\nFor Jove uncurtained Heaven to let thee live,\\nAnd Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,\\nAnd Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive.\\nAye, on the shores of darkness there is light.\\nAnd precipices show untrodden green,\\nThere is a \u00c2\u00b0budding morrow in midnight.\\nThere is a triple sight in blindness keen\\nSuch seeing hadst thou, as it once befel\\nTo Dian, Queen of Earth; and Heaven, and Hell.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "144 LINES FROM ENDYMION\\nOPENING LINES OF ENDYMION\\nBOOK I\\nA THING of beauty is a joy forever\\nIts loveliness increases it will never\\nPass into nothingness but still will keep\\nA bower quiet for us, and a sleep\\nFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.\\nTherefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing\\nA flowery band to bind us to the earth.\\nSpite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth\\nOf noble natures, of the gloomy days.\\nOf all the unhealthy and o er-darkened ways lo\\nMade for our searching yes, in spite of all,\\nSome shape of beauty moves away the pall\\nFrom our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon.\\nTrees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon\\nFor simple sheep and such are daffodils\\nWith the green world they live in and clear rills\\nThat for themselves a cooling covert make\\nGainst the hot season the mid forest brake,\\nliich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms\\nAnd such too is the grandeur of the dooms 20", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "LINES FROM ENDYMION 145\\nWe have imagined for the mighty dead;\\nAll lovely tales that we have heard or read\\nAn endless fountain of immortal drink,\\nPouring unto us from the heaven s brink.\\nNor do we merely feel these essences\\nFor one short hour no, even as the trees\\nThat whisper round a temple become soon\\nDear as the temple s self, so does the moon,\\nThe passion poesy, glories infinite,\\nHaunt us till they become a cheering light 30\\nUnto our souls, and bound to us so fast,\\nThat, whether there be shine, or gloom o ercast,\\nThey always must be with us, or we die.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "146 I STOOD TIP-TOE\\nPOEM\\nPlaces of nestling green for Poets made.\\nStory of Rimini.\\nI STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill,\\nThe air was cooling, and so very still.\\nThat the sweet buds which with a modest pride\\nPull droopingiy, in slanting curve aside.\\nTheir scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,\\nHad not yet lost those starry diadems\\nCaught from the early sobbing of the morn.\\nThe clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,\\nAnd fresh from the clear brook sweetly they slept\\nOn the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept lo\\nA little noiseless noise among the leaves,\\nBorn of the very sigh that silence heaves\\nFor not the faintest motion could be seen\\nOf all the shades that slanted o er the green.\\nThere was wide wand ring for the greediest eye,\\nTo peer about upon variety\\nFar round the horizon s crystal air to skim,\\nAnd trace the dwindled edgings of its \u00c2\u00b0brim", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "STOOD TIP-TOE 147\\nTo picture out the quaint, and curious bending\\nOf a fresli woodland alley, never ending; 20\\nOr by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,\\nGuess where the \u00c2\u00b0j aunty streams refresh themselves.\\nI gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free\\nAs though the fanning wings of Mercury\\nHad played upon my heels I was light-hearted,\\nAnd many pleasures to my vision started\\nSo I straightway began to pluck a posy\\nOf luxuries bright, milky, soft, and rosy.\\nA bush of May flowers with the \u00c2\u00b0bees about them\\nAh, sure no tasteful nook would be without them 30\\nAnd let a lush laburnum oversweep them.\\nAnd let long grass grow round the roots to keep them\\nMoist, cool, and green and shade the violets,\\nThat they may bind the moss in leafy nets.\\nA filbert hedge with wild brier overtwined,\\nAnd clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind\\nUpon their summer thrones there too should be\\nThe frequent \u00c2\u00b0chequer of a youngling tree,\\nThat with a score of light green brethren shoots\\nFrom the quaint mossiness of aged roots 40\\nRound which is heard a spring-head of clear waters\\nBabbling so wildly of its lovely daughters", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "148 STOOD TIP-TOE\\nThe spreading blue bells it may haply mourn\\nThat such fair clusters should be rudely torn\\nFrom their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly\\nBy infant hands, left on the path to die.\\nOpen afresh your round of starry folds,\\nYe ardent marigolds\\nDry up the moisture from your golden lids,\\nFor great Apollo bids 50\\nThat in these days your praises should be sung\\nOn many harps, which he has lately strung\\nAnd when again your dewiness he kisses.\\nTell him, I have you in my world of blisses\\nSo haply when I rove in some far vale,\\nHis mighty voice may come upon the gale.\\nHere are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight\\nWith wings of gentle flush o er delicate white,\\nAnd taper flngers catching at all things.\\nTo bind them all about with tiny rings. 60\\nLinger awhile upon some bending planks\\nThat lean against a streamlet s rushy banks,\\nAnd watch intently Nature s gentle doings\\nThey will be found softer than ring-dove s cooings.\\nHow silent comes the water round that bend j", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "STOOD TIP-TOE 149\\nNot the minutest whisper does it send\\nTo the o erhanging sallows blades of grass\\nSlowly across the chequered shadows pass.\\nWhy, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach\\nTo where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach 70\\nA natural sermon o er their pebbly beds\\nWhere swarms of minnows show their little heads,\\nStaying their \u00c2\u00b0wavy bodies gainst the streams,\\nTo taste the luxury of sunny beams\\nTempered with coolness. How they ever wrestle\\nWith their own sweet delight, and ever nestle\\nTheir silver bellies on the pebbly sand.\\nIf you but scantily hold out the hand,\\nThat very instant not one will remain;\\nBut turn your eye, and they are there again. 80\\nThe ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses.\\nAnd cool themselves among the em rald tresses\\nThe while they cool themselves, they freshness give,\\nAnd moisture, that the bowery green may live\\nSo keeping up an interchange of favors.\\nLike good men in the truth of their behaviors.\\nSometimes goldfinches one by one will drop\\nErom low hung branches little space they stop\\nBut sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek j\\nThen off at once, as in a wanton freak 90", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "150 I STOOD TIP-TOE\\nOr perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings,\\nPausing upon their \u00c2\u00b0yellow flutterings.\\nWere I in such a place, I sure should pray-\\nThat naught less sweet, might call my thoughts away,\\nThan the soft rustle of a maiden s gown\\nFanning away the dandelion s down\\nThan the light music of her nimble toes\\nPatting against the sorrel as she goes.\\nHow she would start, and blush, thus to be caught\\nPlaying in all her innocence of thought. loo\\n0, let me lead her gently o er the brook.\\nWatch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;\\n0, let me for one moment touch her wrist\\nLet me one moment to her breathing list\\nAnd as she leaves me may she often turn\\nHer fair eyes looking through her locks auburn.\\nWhat next A tuft of evening primroses.\\nO er which the mind may hover till it dozes\\nO er which it well might take a pleasant sleep.\\nBut that tis ever startled by the leap no\\nOf buds into ripe flowers or by the flitting\\nOf diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting;\\nOr by the moon lifting her silver rim\\nAbove a cloud, and with a gradual swim\\nComing into the blue with all her light.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "STOOD TIP-TOE 151\\n0, Maker of sweet poets, dear delight\\nOf this fair world, and all its gentle livers\\nSpangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,\\nMingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,\\nCloser of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, 120\\nLover of loneliness, and wandering.\\nOf upcast eye, and tender pondering\\nThee must I praise above all other glories\\nThat smile us on to tell delightful stories.\\nFor what has made the sage or poet write\\nBut the fair paradise of Nature s light\\nIn the calm grandeur of a sober line,\\nWe see the waving of the mountain pine\\nAnd when a tale is beautifully \u00c2\u00b0staid.\\nWe feel the safety of a hawthorn glade 130\\nWhen it is moving on luxurious wings.\\nThe soul is lost in pleasant smotherings:\\nFair dewy roses brush against our faces,\\nAnd flowering laurels spring from diamond vases\\nO erhead we see the jasmine and sweet brier.\\nAnd bloomy grapes laughing from green attire\\nWhile at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles\\nCharms us at once away from all our troubles\\nSo that we feel uplifted from the world, 139\\nWalking upon the white clouds wreathed and curled.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "152 I STOOD TIP-TOE\\nSo felt he, who first told how Psyche went\\nOn the smooth wind to realms of wonderment\\nWhat Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips\\nFirst touched what amorous, and fondling nips\\nThey gave each other s cheeks with all their sighs,\\nAnd how they kissed each other s tremulous eyes\\nTheir woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown.\\nTo bow for gratitude before Jove s throne.\\nSo did he feel, who pulled the boughs aside,\\nThat we might look into a forest wide, 150\\nTo catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades\\nComing with softest rustle through the trees\\nAnd garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet,\\nUpheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet\\nTelling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled\\nArcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.\\nPoor nymph, poor Pan, how he did weep to find\\nNaught but a lovely sighing of the wind\\nAlong the reedy stream a half-heard strain,\\nFull of sweet desolation balmy pain. 160\\nWhat first inspired a bard of old to sing\\nNarcissus \u00c2\u00b0pining o er the untainted spring\\nIn some delicious ramble, he had found\\nA little space, with boughs all woven round", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "STOOD TIP-TOE 153\\nAnd in the midst of all, a clearer pool\\nThan e er reflected in its pleasant cool,\\nThe blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping\\nThrough tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.\\nAnd on the bank a lonely flower he spied,\\nA meek and forlorn flower, with, naught of pride, 170\\nDrooping its beauty o er the watery clearness,\\nTo woo its own sad image into nearness\\nDeaf to light Zephyrus it would not move\\nBut still would seem to droop, to pine, to love.\\nSo while the poet stood in this sweet spot,\\nSome fainter gleamings o er his fancy shot j\\nNor was it long ere he had told the tale\\nOf young Narcissus, and sad Echo s bale.\\nWhere had he been, from whose warm head out-flew\\nThat sweetest of all songs, that ever new, 180\\nThat aye refreshing, pure deliciousness,\\nComing ever to bless\\nThe wanderer by moonlight to him bringing\\nShapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing\\nFrom out the middle air, from flowery nests,\\nAnd from the pillowy silkiness that rests\\nFull in the speculation of the stars.\\nAh surely he had burst our mortal bars", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "154 STOOD TIP-TOE\\nInto some wond rous region he had gone,\\nTo search for thee, divine Endymion 190\\nHe was a Poet, sure a lover too,\\nWho stood on Latmus top, what time there blew\\nSoft breezes from the myrtle vale below\\nAnd brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow\\nA hymn from Dian s temple while upswelling,\\nThe incense went to her own starry dwelling.\\nBut though her face was clear as infant s eyes,\\nThough she stood smiling o er the sacrifice,\\nThe Poet wept at her so piteous fate,\\nWept that such beauty should be desolate 200\\nSo in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,\\nAnd gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.\\nQueen of the wide air thou most lovely queen\\nOf all the brightness that mine eyes have seen\\nAs thou exceedest all things in thy shine.\\nSo every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.\\n0, for three words of honey, that I might\\nTell but one wonder of thy bridal night\\nWhere distant ships do seem to show their keels\\nPhoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels, 210", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "STOOD TIP-TOE 155\\nAnd turned to smile upon tliy bashful eyes,\\nEre he his unseen pomp would solemnize.\\nThe evening weather was so bright, and clear,\\nThat men of health were of unusual cheer\\nStepping like Homer at the trumpet s call,\\nOr young Apollo on the pedestal\\nThe breezes were ethereal, and pure,\\nAnd crept through half-closed lattices to cure\\nThe languid sick it cooled their fevered sleep.\\nAnd soothed them into slumbers full and deep. 220\\nSoon they awoke clear eyed nor burnt with thirsting,\\nNor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting\\nAnd springing up, they met the wond ring sight\\nOf their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight\\nYoung men and maidens at each other gazed\\nWith hands held back, and motionless, amazed\\nTo see the brightness in each other s eyes\\nAnd so they stood, filled with a sweet surprise,\\nUntil their tongues were loosed in poesy.\\nTherefore no lover did of anguish die 230\\nBut the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,\\nMade silken ties, that never may be broken.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "156 ISABELLA\\nISABELLA;\\nOR,\\nTHE POT OF BASIL\\nEair Isabel, poor simple Isabel\\nLorenzo, a young palmer in Love s eye\\nThey could not in the self-same mansion dwell\\nWithout some stir of heart, some malady\\nThey could not sit at meals but feel how well\\nIt soothed each to be the other by\\nThey could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep,\\nBut to each other dream, and nightly weep.\\nII\\nWith every morn their love grew tenderer,\\nWith every eve deeper and tenderer still\\nHe might not in house, field, or garden stir,\\nBut her full shape would all his seeing fill\\nAnd his continual voice was pleasanter\\nTo her than noise of trees or hidden rill\\nHer lute-string gave an echo of his name.\\nShe spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 157\\nIII\\nHe knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,\\nBefore the door had given her to his eyes\\nAnd from her chamber-window he would catch\\nHer beauty farther than the falcon spies 20\\nAnd constant as her vespers would he watch,\\nBecause her face was turned to the same skies\\nAnd with sick longing all the night outwear,\\nTo hear her morning-step upon the stair.\\nIV\\nA whole long month of May in this sad plight\\nMade their cheeks paler by the break of June\\nTo-morrow will I bow to my delight,\\nTo-morrow will I ask my lady s boon.\\n0, may I never see another night,\\nLorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love s tune. 30\\nSo spake they to their pillows but, alas,\\nHoneyless days and days did he let pass\\nUntil sweet Isabella s untouched cheek\\nFell sick within the rose s just domain,\\nFell thin as a young mother s, who doth seek\\nBy every lull to cool her infant s pain", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "158 ISABELLA\\nHow ill she is, said he, I may not speak,\\nAnd yet I will, and tell my love all plain\\nIf looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,\\nAnd at the least twill startle off her cares. 40\\nVI\\nSo said he one fair morning, and all day\\nHis heart beat awfully against his side\\nAnd to his heart he inwardly did pray\\nFor power to speak but still the ruddy tide\\nStifled his voice, and pulsed resolve away\\nFevered his high conceit of such a bride.\\nYet brought him to the meekness of a child\\nAlas when passion is both meek and wild\\nVII\\nSo once more he had waked and anguished\\nA dreary night of love and misery, 50\\nIf Isabel s quick eye had not been wed\\nTo every symbol on his forehead high\\nShe saw it waxing ver}^ pale and dead.\\nAnd straight all flushed so, lisped tenderly,\\nLorenzo here she ceased her timid quest,\\nBut in her tone and look he read the rest.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 159\\nVIII\\nIsabella, I can half perceive\\nThat I may speak my grief into thine ear\\nIf thou didst ever anything believe,\\nBelieve how I love thee, believe how near 60\\nMy soul is to its doom I would not grieve\\nThy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear\\nThine eyes by gazing but I cannot live\\nAnother night, and not my passion shrive.\\nIX\\nLove thou art leading me from wintry cold,\\nLady thou leadest me to summer clime.\\nAnd I must taste the blossoms that unfold\\nIn its ripe warmth this gracious morning time.\\nSo said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold.\\nAnd poesied with hers in dewy rhyme 70\\nGreat bliss was with them, and great happiness\\nGrew, like a lusty flower in June s caress.\\nParting they seemed to tread upon the air,\\nTwin roses by the zephyr blown apart\\nOnly to meet again more close, and share\\nThe inward fragrance of each other s heart.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "160 ISABELLA\\nShe, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair\\nSang, of delicious love and honeyed dart\\nHe with light steps went up a western hill.\\nAnd bade the sun farewell, and joyed his fill. 80\\nXI\\nAll close they meet again, before the dusk\\nHad taken from the stars its pleasant veil.\\nAll close they met, all eves, before the dusk\\nHad taken from the stars its pleasant veil,\\nClose in a bower of hyacinth and musk.\\nUnknown of any, free from whispering tale.\\nAh better had it been forever so.\\nThan idle ears should pleasure in their woe.\\nXII\\nWere they unhappy then it cannot be\\nToo many tears for lovers have been shed, 90\\nToo many sighs give we to them in fee.\\nToo much of pity after they are dead,\\nToo many doleful stories do we see.\\nWhose matter in bright gold were best be read\\nExcept in such a page where Theseus spouse\\nOver the pathless waves towards him bows.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 161\\nXIII\\nBut, for the general award of love,\\nThe little sweet doth kill much bitterness\\nThough Dido silent is in under-grove.\\nAnd Isabella s was a great distress, loo\\nThough young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove\\nWas not embalmed, this truth is not the less-^\\nEven bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,\\nKnow there is richest juice in poison-flowers.\\nXIV\\nWith her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,\\nEnriched from ancestral merchandise,\\nAnd for them many a weary hand did swelt\\nIn torched mines and noisy factories,\\nAnd many once proud-quivered loins did melt\\nIn blood from stinging whip with hollow eyes no\\nMany all day in dazzling river stood.\\nTo take the rich-ored drif tings of the flood.\\nXV\\nFor them the Ceylon diver held his breath,\\nAnd went all naked to the hungry shark\\nFor them his ears gushed blood for them in death\\nThe seal on the cold ice with piteous bark", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "162 ISABELLA\\nLay full of darts for them alone did seethe\\nA thousand men in troubles wide and dark\\nHalf-ignorant, they turned an easy wheel,\\nThat set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. 120\\nXVI\\nWhy were they proud Because their marble founts\\nGushed with more pride than do a wretch s tears\\nWhy were they proud Because fair orange-mounts\\nWere of more soft assent than lazar stairs\\nWhy were they proud Because red-lined accounts\\nWere richer than the songs of Grecian years\\nWhy were they proud again we ask aloud,\\nWhy in the name of Glory were they proud\\nXVII\\nYet were these Florentines as self-retired\\nIn hungry pride and gainful cowardice, 130\\nAs two close Hebrews in that land inspired.\\nPaled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies\\nThe hawks of ship-mast forests the untired\\nAnd panniered mules for ducats and old lies\\nQuick cat s-paws on the generous stray-away,\\nGreat wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 163\\nV\\nXVIII\\nHow was it these same ledger-men could spy\\nFair Isabella in her downy nest\\nHow could they find out in Lorenzo s eye\\nA straying from his toil Hot Egypt s pest 140\\nInto their vision covetous and sly\\nHow could these money-bags see east and west\\nYet so they did and every dealer fair\\nMust see behind, as doth the hunted hare.\\nXIX\\neloquent and famed Boccaccio\\nOf thee we now should ask forgiving boon,\\nAnd of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,\\nAnd of thy roses amorous of the moon,\\nAnd of thy lilies, that do paler grow\\nNow they can no more hear thy ghittern s tune, 150\\nFor venturing syllables that ill beseem\\nThe quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.\\nXX\\nGrant thou a pardon here, and then the tale\\nShall move on soberly, as it is meet\\nThere is no other crime, no mad assail\\nTo make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "164 ISABELLA\\nBut it is done succeed the verse or fail\\nTo honor thee, and thy gone spirit greet;\\nTo stead thee as a verse in English tongue,\\nAn echo of thee in the north-wind sung. i6o\\nXXI\\nThese brethren having found by many signs\\nWhat love Lorenzo for their sister had,\\nAnd how she loved him too, each unconfines\\nHis bitter thoughts to other, weli-nigh mad\\nThat he, the servant of their trade designs.\\nShould in their sister s love be blithe and glad,\\nWhen twas their plan to coax her by degrees\\nTo some high noble and his olive-trees.\\nXXII\\nAnd many a jealous conference had they,\\nAnd many times they bit their lips alone, 170\\nBefore they fixed upon a surest way\\nTo make the youngster for his crime atone\\nAnd at the last, these men of cruel clay\\nCut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone\\nFor they resolved in some forest dim\\nTo kill Lorenzo, and there bury him.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 165\\nXXIII\\nSo on a pleasant morning, as he leant\\nInto tlie sun-rise, o er the balustrade\\nOf the garden-terrace, towards him they bent\\nTheir footing through the dews and to him said, i8o\\nYou seem there in the quiet of content,\\nLorenzo, and we are most loath to invade\\nCalm speculation but if you are wise,\\nBestride your steed while cold is in the skies.\\nXXIV\\nTo-day we purpose, aye, this hour we mount\\nTo spur three leagues towards the Apennine\\nCome down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count\\nHis dewy rosary on the eglantine.\\nLorenzo, courteously as he was wont,\\nBowed a fair greeting to these serpents whine 190\\nAnd went in haste, to get in readiness,\\nWith belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman s dress.\\nXXV\\nAnd as he to the court-yard passed along,\\nEach third step did he pause, and listened oft\\nIf he could hear his lady s matin-song,\\nOr the light whisper of her footstep soft", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "166 ISABELLA\\nAnd as he thus over his passion hung,\\nHe heard a laugh full musical aloft\\nWhen, looking up, he saw her features bright\\nSmile through an in-door lattice, all delight. 200\\nXXVI\\nLove, Isabel said he, I was in pain\\nLest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow\\nAh what if I should lose thee, when so fain\\nI am to stifle all the heavy sorrow\\nOf a poor three hours absence but we ll gain\\nOut of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.\\nGood-by! I ll soon be back. Good-by! said\\nshe:\\nAnd as he went she chanted merrily.\\nXXVII\\nSo the two brothers and their \u00c2\u00b0murdered man\\nRode past fair Florence, to where Arno s stream 210\\nGurgles through straitened banks, and still doth fan\\nItself with dancing bulrush, and the bream\\nKeeps, head against the freshets. Sick and wan\\nThe brothers faces in the ford did seem,\\nLorenzo s flush with love. They passed the water\\nInto a forest quiet for the slaughter.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 167\\nXXVIII\\nThere was Lorenzo slain and buried in,\\nThere in that forest did his great love cease\\nAh when a soul doth thus its freedom win,\\nIt aches in loneliness is ill at peace 220\\nAs the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin\\nThey dipped their swords in the water, and did tease\\nTheir horses homeward, with convulsed spur,\\nEach richer by his being a mui derer.\\nXXIX\\nThey told their sister how, with sudden speed,\\nLorenzo had ta en ship for foreign lands,\\nBecause of some great urgency and need\\nIn their affairs, requiring trusty hands.\\nPoor Girl put on thy stifling widow s weed.\\nAnd scape at once from Hope s accursed bands 230\\nTo-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,\\nAnd the next day will be a day of sorrow.\\nXXX\\nShe weeps alone for pleasures not to be\\nSorely she wept until the night came on,\\nAnd then, instead of love, misery\\nShe brooded o er the luxury alone", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "168 ISABELLA\\nHis image in the dusk she seemed to see,\\nAnd to the silence made a gentle moan,\\nSpreading her perfect arms upon the air, 2/9\\nAnd on her couch low murmuring, Where where\\nXXXI\\nBut Selfishness, Love s cousin, held not long\\nIts fiery vigil in her single breast\\nShe fretted for the golden hour, and hung\\nUpon the time with feverish unrest\\nNot long for soon into her heart a throng\\nOf higher occupants, a richer zest.\\nCame tragic passion not to be subdued,\\nAnd sorrow for her love in travels rude.\\nXXXII\\nIn the mid days of autumn, on their eves\\nThe breath of Winter comes from far away, 250\\nAnd the sick west continually bereaves\\nOf some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay\\nOf death among the bushes and the leaves,\\nTo make all bare before he dares to stray\\nFrom his north cavern. So sweet Isabel\\nBy gradual decay from beauty fell,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 169\\nXXXIIl\\nBecause Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes\\nShe asked her brothers, with an eye all pale,\\nStriving to be itself, what dungeon climes\\nCould keep him off so long They spake a tale 260\\nTime after time, to quiet her. Their crimes\\nCame on them, like a smoke from \u00c2\u00b0Hinnom s vale\\nAnd every night in dreams they groaned aloud,\\nTo see their sister in her snowy shroud.\\nXXXIV\\nAnd she had died m drowsy ignorance,\\nBut for a thing more deadly dark than all\\nIt came like a fierce potion, drunk b}^ chance,\\nWhich saves a sick man from the feathered pall\\nFor some few gasping moments like a lance,\\nWaking an Indian from his cloudy hall 270\\nWith cruel pierce, and bringing him again\\nSense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.\\nXXXV\\nIt was a vision. In the drowsy gloom,\\nThe dull of midnight, at her couch s foot\\nLorenzo stood, and wept the forest tomb\\nHad marred his glossy hair which once could shoot", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "170 ISABELLA\\nLustre into the sun, and put cold doom\\nUpon his lips, and taken the soft lute\\nFrom his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears\\nHad made a miry channel for his tears. 280\\nXXXVI\\nStrange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake\\nFor there was striving, in its piteous tongue,\\nTo speak as when on earth it was awake.\\nAnd Isabella on its music hung:\\nLanguor there was in it, and tremulous shake.\\nAs in a palsied Druid s harp imstrung\\nAnd through it moaned a ghostly under-song.\\nLike hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briers among.\\nXXXVII\\nIts eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright\\nWith love, and kept all phantom fear aloof 290\\nFrom the poor girl by magic of their light.\\nThe while it did unthread the horrid woof\\nOf the late darkened time, the murderous spite\\nOf pride and avarice, the dark pine roof\\nIn the forest, and the sodden turfed dell.\\nWhere, without any word, from stabs he fell.\\n1", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 171\\nXXXVIII\\nSaying moreover, Isabel, my sweet!\\nRed whortle-berries droop above my head,\\nAnd a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet\\nAround me beeches and high chestnuts shed 300\\nTheir leaves and prickly nuts a sheep-fold bleat\\nComes from beyond the river to my bed\\nGo, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,\\nAnd it shall comfort me within the tomb.\\nXXXIX\\nI am a shadow now, alas alas\\nUpon the skirts of human-nature dwelling\\nAlone I chant alone the holy mass,\\nWhile little sounds of life are round me knelling,\\nAnd glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass.\\nAnd many a chapel bell the hour is telling, 310\\nPaining me through those sounds grow strange to me,\\nAnd thou art distant in Humanity.\\nXL\\nI know what was, I feel full well what is,\\nAnd I should rage, if spirits could go mad j\\nThough I forget the taste of earthly bliss.\\nThat paleness warms my grave, as though I had", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "172 ISABELLA\\nA Seraph chosen from the bright abyss\\nTo be my spouse thy paleness makes me glad\\nThy beauty grows upon me, and I feel\\nA greater love through all my essence steal. 320\\nXLI\\nThe Spirit mourned Adieu dissolved, and left\\nThe atom darkness in a slow turmoil\\nAs when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,\\nThinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil.\\nWe put our eyes into a pillowy cleft.\\nAnd see the spangly gloom froth up and boil\\nIt made sad Isabella s eyelids ache,\\nAnd in the dawn she started up awake.\\nXLII\\nHa ha said she, I knew not this hard life,\\nI thought the worst was simple misery 330\\nI thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife\\nPortioned us happy days, or else to die\\nBut there is crime a brother s bloody knife\\nSweet spirit, thou hast schooled my infancy\\nI ll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes.\\nAnd greet thee morn and even in the skies.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 173\\nXLIII\\nWhen the full morning came, she had devised\\nHow she might secret to the forest hie\\nHow she might find the clay, so dearly prized,\\nAnd sing to it one latest lullaby 340\\nHow her short absence might be unsurmised,\\nWhile she the inmost of the dream would try.\\nResolved, she took with her an aged nurse,\\nAnd went into that dismal forest-hearse.\\nXLIV\\nSee, as they creep along the river side,\\nHow she doth whisper to that aged Dame,\\nAnd, after looking round that campaign wide,\\nShows her a knife. What feverish hectic flame\\nBurns in thee, child What good can thee betide.\\nThat thou shouldst smile again The evening\\ncame, 350\\nAnd they had found Lorenzo s earthy bed\\nThe flint was there, the berries at his head.\\nXLV\\nWho hath not loitered in a green church-yard,\\nAnd let his spirit, like a demon-mole.\\nWork through the clayey soil and gravel hard,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "174 ISABELLA\\nTo see scull, coffined bones, and funeral stole\\nPitying each, form that hungry Death hath marred,\\nAnd filling it once more with human soul\\nAh this is holiday to what was felt\\nWhen Isabella by Lorenzo knelt. 360\\nXL VI\\nShe gazed into the fresh-thrown mould, as though\\nOne glance did fully all its secrets tell\\nClearly she saw, as other eyes would know\\nPale limbs at bottom of a crystal well\\nUpon the murderous spot she seemed to grow,\\nLike to a native lily of the dell\\nThen with her knife, all sudden, she began\\nTo dig more fervently than misers can.\\nXL VII\\nSoon she turned up a soiled glove, whereon\\nHer silk had played in purple phantasies, 370\\nShe kissed it with a lip more chill than stone,\\nAnd put it in her bosom, where it dries\\nAnd freezes utterly unto the bone\\nThose dainties made to still an infant s cries\\nThen gan she work again nor stayed her care.\\nBut to throw back at times her veiling hair.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 175\\nXLVIII\\nThat old nurse stood beside her wondering,\\nUntil her heart felt pity to the core\\nAt sight of such a dismal laboring,\\nAnd so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar, 380\\nAnd put her lean hands to the horrid thing\\nThree hours they labored at this travail sore\\nAt last they felt the kernel of the grave,\\nAnd Isabella did not stamp and rave.\\nXLIX\\nAh wherefore all this wormy circumstance\\nWhy linger at the yawning tomb so long\\nO for the gentleness of old Romance,\\nThe simple plaining of a minstrel s song!\\nFair reader, at the old tale take a glance.\\nFor here, in truth, it doth not well belong 390\\nTo speak turn thee to the very tale,\\nAnd taste the music of that vision pale.\\nWith duller steel than the Persean sword\\nThey cut away no formless monster s head,\\nBut one, whose gentleness did well accord\\nWith death, as life. The ancient harps have said,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "176 ISABELLA\\nLove never dies, but lives, immortal Lord\\nIf Love impersonate was ever dead.\\nPale Isabella kissed it, and low moaned. 399\\nTwas love cold, dead indeed, but not dethroned.\\nLI\\nIn anxious secrecy they took it home,\\nAnd then the prize was all for Isabel\\nShe calmed its wild hair with a golden comb.\\nAnd all around each eye s sepulchral cell\\nPointed each fringed lash the smeared loam\\nWith tears, as chilly as a dripping w^ell.\\nShe drenched away and still she combed, and kept\\nSighing all day and still she kissed and wept.\\nLII\\nThen in a silken scarf, sweet with the dews\\nOf precious flowers plucked in Araby, 410\\nAnd divine liquids come with odorous ooze\\nThrough the cold serpent-pipe refreshfully,\\nShe wrapped it up and for its tomb did choose\\nA garden-pot, wherein she laid it by.\\nAnd covered it with mould, and o er it set\\nSweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 111\\nLIII\\nAnd she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,\\nAnd she forgot the blue above the trees.\\nAnd she forgot the dells where waters run,\\nAnd she forgot the chilly autumn breeze 420\\nShe had no knowledge when the day was done.\\nAnd the new morn she saw not but in peace\\nHung over her sweet Basil evermore.\\nAnd moistened it with tears unto the core.\\nLIV\\nAnd so she ever fed it with thin tears,\\nWhence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew.\\nSo that it smelt more balmy than its peers\\nOf Basil-tufts in Florence for it drew\\nNurture besides, and life, from human fears.\\nFrom the fast mouldering head there shut from\\nview 430\\nSo that the jewel, safely casketed,\\nCame forth, and in perfumed leaflets spread.\\nLV\\nMelancholy, linger here awhile\\nMusic, Music, breathe despondingly.\\nEcho, Echo, from some sombre isle,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "178 ISABELLA\\nUnknown, Lethean, sigh to us sigh\\nSpirits in grief, lift up your heads, and smile\\nLift up your heads, sweet Spirits, heavily,\\nAnd make a pale light in your cypress glooms,\\nTinting with silver wan your marble tombs. 440\\nLVI\\nMoan hither, all ye syllables of woe.\\nFrom the deep throat of sad \u00c2\u00b0Melpomene\\nThrough bronzed lyre in tragic order go.\\nAnd touch the strings into a mystery\\nSound mournfully upon the winds and low\\nFor simple Isabel is soon to be\\nAmong the dead She withers, like a palm\\nCut by an Indian for its juicy balm.\\nLVII\\nleave the palm to wither by itself;\\nLet not quick Winter chill its dying hour 450\\nIt may not be those \u00c2\u00b0Baalites of pelf.\\nHer brethren, noted the continual shower\\nFrom her dead eyes and many a curious elf.\\nAmong her kindred, wondered that such dower\\nOf youth and beauty should be thrown aside\\nBy one marked out to be a Noble s bride.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 179\\nLVIII\\nAnd, furthermore, her brethren wondered much\\nWhy she sat drooping by the Basil green.\\nAnd why it flourished, as by magic touch 459\\nGreatly they wondered what the thing might mean\\nThey could not surely give belief, that such\\nA very nothing would have power to wean\\nHer from her own fair youth, and pleasures gay,\\nAnd even remembrance of her love s delay.\\nLIX\\nTherefore they watched a time when they might sift\\nThis hidden whim and long they watched in vain\\nFor seldom did she go to chapel-shrift.\\nAnd seldom felt she any hunger-pain\\nAnd when she left, she hurried back, as swift\\nAs bird on wing to breast its eggs again 470\\nAnd, patient as a hen-bird, sat her there\\nBeside her Basil, weeping through her hair.\\nLX\\nYet they contrived to steal the Basil-pot,\\nAnd to examine it in secret place\\nThe thing was vile with green and livid spot,\\nAnd yet they knew it was Lorenzo s face", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "180 ISABELLA\\nThe guerdon of their murder they had got,\\nAnd so left Florence in a moment s space,\\nNever to turn again. Away they went\\nWith blood upon their heads to banishment. 480\\nLXI\\nMelancholy, turn thine eyes away\\nMusic, Music, breathe despondingly\\nEcho, Echo, on some other day.\\nFrom isles Lethean, sigh to us sigh\\nSpirits of grief, sing not your Well-a-way\\nFor Isabel, sweet Isabel, will die\\nWill die a death too lone and incomplete,\\nNow they have ta en away her Basil sweet.\\nLXII\\nPiteous she looked on dead and senseless things.\\nAsking for her lost Basil amorously 490\\nAnd with melodious chuckle in the strings\\nOf her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry\\nAfter the Pilgrim in his wanderings.\\nTo ask him where her Basil was and why\\nTwas hid from her For cruel tis, said she,\\nTo steal my Basil-pot away from me.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA 181\\nLXIII\\nAnd so she pined, and so she died forlorn,\\nImploring for her Basil to the last.\\nNo heart was there in Florence but did mourn\\nIn pity of her love, so overcast. 500\\nAnd a sad ditty of this story borne\\nFrom mouth to mouth through all the country\\npassed\\nStill is the burthen sung 0 cruelty,\\nTo steal my Basil-pot away from me", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "182 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nTHE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\n\u00c2\u00b0St. Agnes Eve Ah, bitter chill it was\\nThe owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold\\nThe hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,\\nAnd silent was the flock in woolly fold\\nNumb were the Beadsman s fingers, while he told\\nHis rosary, and while his frosted breath,\\nLike pious incense from a censer old.\\nSeemed taking flight for heaven, without a death.\\nPast the sweet Virgin s picture, while his prayer he\\nsaith.\\nII\\nHis prayer he saith, this patient, holy man lo\\nThen takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees.\\nAnd back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,\\nAlong the chapel aisle by slow degrees\\nThe sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,\\nEmprisoned in black, purgatorial rails\\nKnights, ladies, praying in dumb orat ries.\\nHe passeth by and his weak spirit fails\\nTo think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 183\\nIII\\nNorthward he turneth through a little door,\\nAnd scarce three steps, ere Music s golden tongue 20\\nFlattered to tears this aged man and poor\\nBut no already had his deathbell rung\\nThe joys of all his life were said and sung;\\nHis was harsh penance on St. Agnes Eve;\\nAnother way he went, and soon among\\nRough ashes sat he for his soul s reprieve.\\nAnd all night kept awake, for sinners sake to grieve.\\nIV\\nThat ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft\\nAnd so it chanced, for many a door was wide.\\nFrom hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, 30\\nThe silver, snarling trumpets gan to chide\\nThe level chambers, ready with their pride.\\nWere glowing to receive a thousand guests\\nThe carved angels, ever eager-eyed.\\nStared, where upon their heads the cornice rests.\\nWith hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on\\ntheir breasts.\\nV\\nAt length burst in the argent revelry.\\nWith plume, tiara, and all rich array,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "184 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nNumerous as shadows haunting fairily 39\\nThe brain, new stuffed, in youth with triumphs gay\\nOf old romance. These let us wish away.\\nAnd turn, soul-thoughted, to one Lady there.\\nWhose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,\\nOn love, and winged St. Agnes saintly care,\\nAs she had heard old dames full many times declare.\\nVI\\nThey told her how, upon St. Agnes Eve,\\nYoung virgins might have visions of delight,\\nAnd soft adorings from their loves receive\\nUpon the honeyed middle of the night,\\nIf ceremonies due they did aright 50\\nAs, supperless to bed they must retire.\\nAnd couch supine their beauties, lily white\\nNor look behind, nor sideways, but require\\nOf Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.\\nVII\\nFull of this whim was thoughtful Madeline\\nThe music, yearning like a God in pain.\\nShe scarcely heard her maiden eyes divine,\\nFixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train\\nPass by she heeded not at all in vain", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 185\\nCame many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, 60\\nAnd back retired not cooled by high disdain,\\nBut she saw not her heart was otherwhere\\nShe sighed for Agnes dreams, the sweetest of the year.\\nVIII\\nShe danced along with vague, regardless eyes.\\nAnxious her lips, her breathing quick and short\\nThe hallowed hour was near at hand she sighs\\nAmid the timbrels, and the thronged resort\\nOf whisperers in anger, or in sport\\nMid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,\\nHoodwinked with fairy fancy all amort, 70\\nSave to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,\\nAnd all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.\\nIX\\nSo, purposing each moment to retire.\\nShe lingered still. Meantime, across the moors.\\nHad come young Porphyro, with heart on fire\\nFor Madeline. Beside the portal doors.\\nButtressed from moonlight, stands he, and implores\\nAll saints to give him sight of Madeline,\\nBut for one moment in the tedious hours,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "186 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nThat he might gaze and worship all unseen 80\\nPerchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss in sooth such\\nthings have been.\\nX\\nHe ventures in let no buzzed whisper tell\\nAll eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords\\nWill storm his heart, Love s fev rous citadel\\nFor him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,\\nHyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords.\\nWhose very dogs would execrations howl\\nAgainst his lineage not one breast affords\\nHim any mercy, in that mansion foul.\\nSave one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. 90\\nXI\\nAh, happy chance tHe aged creature came,\\nShuffling along with ivory-headed wand,\\nTo where he stood, hid from the torch s flame,\\nBehind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond\\nThe sound of merriment and chorus bland\\nHe startled her but soon she knew his face.\\nAnd grasped his fingers in her palsied hand.\\nSaying, Mercy, Porphyro hie thee from this place\\nThey are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty\\nrace!", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 187\\nXII\\nGet hence get hence there s dwarfish Hilde-\\nbrand loo\\nHe had a fever late, and in the fit\\nHe cursed thee and thine, both house and land\\nThen there s that old Lord Maurice, not a whit\\nMore tame for his gray hairs Alas me flit\\nFlit like a ghost away. Ah, Gossip dear.\\nWe re safe enough here in this arm-chair sit,\\nAnd tell me how Good Saints not here, not\\nhere\\nFollow me, child, or else these stones will be thy\\nbier.\\nXIII\\nHe followed through a lowly arched way.\\nBrushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume, no\\nAnd as she muttered Well-a well-a-day\\nHe found him in a little moonlight room,\\nPale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb.\\nNow tell me where is Madeline, said he,\\n0 tell me, Angela, by the holy loom\\nWhich none but secret sisterhood may see.\\nWhen they St. Agnes wool are weaving piously.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "188 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nXIV\\nSt. Agnes Ah it is St. Agnes Eve\\nYet men will murder upon holy days\\nThou must hold water in a \u00c2\u00b0witch s sieve, 120\\nAnd be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,\\nTo venture so it fills me with amaze\\nTo see thee, Porphyro St. Agnes Eve\\nGod s help my lady fair the conjuror plays\\nThis very night good angels her deceive\\nBut let me laugh awhile, I ve mickle time to grieve.\\nXV\\nFeebly she laugheth in the languid moon,\\nWhile Porphyro upon her face doth look.\\nLike puzzled urchin on an aged crone\\nWho keepeth closed a wond rous riddle-book, 130\\nAs spectacled she sits in chimney nook.\\nBut soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told\\nHis lady s purpose; and he scarce could brook\\nTears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,\\nAnd Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.\\nXVI\\nSudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,\\nFlushing his brow, and in his pained heart", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 189\\nMade purple riot then doth, he propose\\nA stratagem, that makes the beldame start\\nA cruel man and impious thou art 140\\nSweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream\\nAlone with her good angels, far apart\\nFrom wicked men like thee. Go, go I deem\\nThou canst not surely be the same that thou didst\\nXVII\\nI will not harm her, by all saints I swear,\\nQuoth Porphyro may I ne er find grace\\nWhen my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,\\nIf one of her soft ringlets I displace.\\nOr look with ruffian passion in her face\\nGood Angela, believe me by these tears 150\\nOr I will, even in a moment s space.\\nAwake, with horrid shout, my foemen s ears,\\nAnd beard them, though they be more fanged than\\nwolves and bears.\\nXVIII\\nAh why wilt thou affright a feeble soul\\nA poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.\\nWhose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "190 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nWhose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,\\nWere never missed. Thus plaining, doth she\\nbring\\nA gentler speech from burning Porphyro\\nSo woful, and of such deep sorrowing, i6o\\nThat Angela gives promise she will do\\nWhatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.\\nXIX\\nWhich was, to lead him, in close secrecy,\\nEven to Madeline s chamber, and there hide\\nHim in a closet, of such privacy\\nThat he might see her beauty unespied.\\nAnd win perhaps that night a peerless bride,\\nWhile legioned fairies paced the coverlet.\\nAnd pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.\\nNever on such a night have lovers met 170\\nSince \u00c2\u00b0Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.\\nXX\\nIt shall be as thou wi sliest, said the dame\\nAll cates and dainties shall be stored there\\nQuickly on this feast-night by the tambour frame\\nHer own lute thou wilt see no time to spare,\\nPor I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 191\\nOn such a catering trust my dizzy head.\\nWait here, my child, with patience kneel in prayer\\nThe while Ah thou must needs the lady wed,\\nOr may I never leave my grave among the dead. i8o\\nXXI\\nSo saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.\\nThe lover s endless minutes slowly passed\\nThe dame returned, and whispered in his ear\\nTo follow her with aged eyes aghast\\nFrom fright of dim espial. Safe at last,\\nThrough many a dusky gallery, they gain\\nThe maiden s chamber, silken, hushed, and chaste\\nWhere Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.\\nHis poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.\\nXXII\\nHer falt ring hand upon the balustrade, igo\\nOld Angela was feeling for the stair.\\nWhen Madeline, St. Agnes charmed maid,\\nRose, like a missioned spirit, unaware\\nWith silver taper s light, and pious care,\\nShe turned, and down the aged gossip led\\nTo a safe level matting. Kow prepare.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "192 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nYoung Porphyro, for gazing on that bed\\nShe comes, she comes again, like ring-dove frayed and\\nfled.\\nXXIII\\nOut went the taper as she hurried in\\nIts little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died 200\\nShe closed the door, she panted, all akin\\nTo spirits of the air, and visions wide\\nNo uttered syllable, or, woe betide\\nBut to her heart, her heart was voluble,\\nPaining with eloquence her balmy side\\nAs though a tongueless nightingale should swell\\nHer throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.\\nXXIV\\nA casement high and triple-arched there was.\\nAll garlanded with carven imag ries\\nOf fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 210\\nAnd diamonded with panes of quaint device,\\nInnumerable of stains and splendid dyes,\\nAs are the tiger-moth s deep-damasked wings\\nAnd in the midst, mong thousand heraldries,\\nAnd twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,\\nA shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and\\nkings.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 193\\nXXV\\nFull on this casement shone the wintry moon,\\nAnd threw warm \u00c2\u00b0gules on Madeline s fair breast,\\nAs down she knelt for heaven s grace and boon;\\nliose-bloom fell on her hands, together pressed, 220\\nAnd on her silver cross soft amethyst,\\nAnd on her hair a glory, like a saint\\nShe seemed a splendid angel, newly dressed.\\nSave wings, for heaven Porphyro grew faint\\nShe knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.\\nXXVI\\nAnon his heart revives her vespers done.\\nOf all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees\\nUnclasps her warmed jewels one by one;\\nLoosens her fragrant bodice by degrees\\nHer rich attire creeps rustling to her knees 230\\nHalf-hidden, like a mermaid in sea- weed.\\nPensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,\\nIn fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed.\\nBut dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.\\nXXVII\\nSoon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,\\nIn sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "194 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nUntil the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed\\nHer soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;\\nFlown, like a thought, until the morrow-day\\nBlissfully havened both from joy and pain 240\\nClasped like a missal where swart \u00c2\u00b0Paynims pray\\nBlinded alike from sunshine and from rain,\\nAs though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.\\nXXVIII\\nStolen to this paradise, and so entranced,\\nPorphyro gazed upon her empty dress,\\nAnd listened to her breathing, if it chanced\\nTo wake into a slumberous tenderness\\nWhich when he heard, that minute did he bless,\\nAnd breathed himself then from the closet crept,\\nNoiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 250\\nAnd over the hushed carpet, silent, stepped,\\nAnd tween the curtains peeped, where, lo how fast\\nshe slept.\\nXXIX\\nThen by the bed-side, where the faded moon\\nMade a dim, silver twilight, soft he set\\nA table, and, half anguished, threw thereon\\nA cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet\\n^1", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 195\\nO for some drowsy Morpliean amulet\\nThe boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,\\nThe kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,\\nAffray his ears, though but in dying tone 260\\nThe hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.\\nXXX\\nAnd still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,\\nIn blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered.\\nWhile he from forth the closet brought a heap\\nOf candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;\\nWith jellies soother than the creamy curd,\\nAnd lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon;\\nManna and dates, in argosy transferred\\nFrom Fez and spiced dainties, every one,\\nFrom silken Samarcand to cedared Lebanon. 270\\nXXXI\\nThese delicates he heaped with glowing hand\\nOn golden dishes and in baskets bright\\nOf wreathed silver sumptuous they stand\\nIn the retired quiet of the night,\\nFilling the chilly room with perfume light.\\nAnd now, my love, my seraph fair, awake", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "196 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nThou art my heaven, and I thine eremite\\nOpen thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes sake,\\nOr I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.\\nXXXII\\nThus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm 280\\nSank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream\\nBy the dusk curtains twas a midnight charm\\nImpossible to melt as iced stream\\nThe lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam\\nBroad golden fringe upon the carpet lies\\nIt seemed he never, never could redeem\\nFrom such a steadfast spell his lady s eyes\\nSo mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies.\\nXXXIII\\nAwakening up, he took her hollow lute,\\nTumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, 290\\nHe played an ancient ditty, long since mute,\\nIn Provence called, La belle dame sans merci\\nClose to her ear touching the melody\\nWherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan.\\nHe ceased she panted quick and suddenly\\nHer blue affrayed eyes wide open shone\\nUpon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured\\nstone.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 197\\nXXXIV\\nHer eyes were open, but she still beheld,\\nNow wide awake, the vision of her sleep\\nThere was a painful change, that nigh expelled 300\\nThe blisses of her dream so pure and deep\\nAt which fair Madeline began to weep,\\nAnd moan forth witless words with many a sigh\\nWhile still her gaze on Porphyro would keep\\nWho knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,\\nFearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly.\\nXXXV\\nAh, Porphyro said she, but even now\\nThy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,\\nMade tuneable with every sweetest vow\\nAnd those sad eyes were spiritual and clear 310\\nHow changed thou art how pallid, chill, and drear\\nGive me that voice again, my Porphyro,\\nThose looks immortal, those complainings dear\\nOh leave me not in this eternal woe.\\nFor if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.\\nXXXVI\\nBeyond a mortal man impassioned far\\nAt these voluptuous accents, he arose,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "198 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nEthereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star\\nSeen mid the sapphire heaven s deep repose j\\nInto her dream he melted, as the rose 320\\nBlendeth its odor with the violet,\\nSolution sweet meantime the frost-wind blows\\nLike Love s alarum pattering the sharp sleet\\nAgainst the window-panes St. Agnes moon hath set.\\nXXXVII\\nTis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet\\nThis is no dream, my bride, my Madeline\\nTis dark the iced gusts still rave and beat\\nNo dream, alas alas and woe is mine\\nPorphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.\\nCruel what traitor could thee hither bring 330\\nI curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,\\nThough thou f orsakest a deceived thing\\nA dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.\\nXXXVIII\\nMy Madeline sweet dreamer lovely bride\\nSay, may I be for aye thy vassal blest\\nThy beauty s shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed\\nAh, silver shrine, here will I take my rest\\nAfter so many hours of toil and quest,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF ST. AGNES 199\\nA. famished pilgrim, saved by miracle.\\nThough I have found, I will not rob thy nest 340\\nSaving of thy sweet self; if thou think st well\\nTo trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.\\nXXXIX\\nHark tis an elfin-storm from fairy land.\\nOf haggard seeming, but a boon indeed\\nArise arise the morning is at hand\\nThe bloated wassaillers will never heed\\nLet us away, my love, with happy speed\\nThere are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,\\nDrowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead\\nAwake arise my love, and fearless be, 350\\nFor o er the southern moors I have a home for thee.\\nXL\\nShe hurried at his words, beset with fear,\\nFor there were sleeping dragons all around.\\nAt glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears\\nDown the wide stairs a darkling way they found,\\nIn all the house was heard no human sound.\\nA chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door;\\nThe arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "200 THE EVE OF ST. AGNES\\nFluttered in the besieging wind s uproar\\nAnd the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. 360\\nXLI\\nThey glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall\\nLike phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide.\\nWhere lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl.\\nWith a huge empty flagon by his side\\nThe wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,\\nBut his sagacious eye an inmate owns\\nBy one, and one, the bolts full easy slide\\nThe chains lie silent on the footworn stones\\nThe key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans\\nXlill\\nAnd they are gone aye, ages long ago 370\\nThese lovers fled away into the storm.\\nThat night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,\\nAnd all his warrior-guests, with shade and form\\nOf witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,\\nWere long be-nightmared. Angela the old\\nDied palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform\\nThe Beadsman, after thousand aves told.\\nFor aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "NOTES SHELLEY\\nTo A Skylark\\nP. 1, 1. 8. Cloud of fire What is it that is like a cloud of\\nfire What would be the difference in meaning were the semi-\\ncolon transferred to the end of line 7\\n1. 15. unbodied joy Certain critics maintain that the adjec-\\ntive should be embodied, and that it was so intended by Shelley.\\nWhich adjective seems to agree best with the spirit of the poem\\nThe Cloud\\nP. 8, 1. 53. And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. Com-\\npare Wordsworth s Night Piece\\nAnd above his head he sees\\nThe clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.\\nThere in a black-blue vault she sails along,\\nFollowed by multitudes of stars, that, small\\nAnd sharp, and bright along the dark abyss\\nDrive as she drives.\\n201", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "202 NOTES SHELLEY [west wind\\nOde to the West Wind\\nIn December (1819) the lastactof Prometheus Unbound ^diS\\nbrought to a close. Several weeks earlier, on a day when the tem-\\npestuous west wind was collecting the vapors which pour down\\nt^e autumnal rains, Shelley conceived, and in great part wrote,\\nin a wood that skirted the Arno, that ode in which there is a\\nunion of lyrical breath with lyrical intensity unsurpassed in\\nEnglish song the Ode to the West Wind Harmonizing\\nunder a common idea the forces of external nature and the\\npassion of the writer s individual heart, the stanzas, with all\\nthe penetrating power of a lyric, have something almost of epic\\nlargeness and grandeur. Dowden.\\nP. 11, 1. 21. Maenad: a bacchante a priestess or votary\\nof Bacchus.\\nP. 12, 1. 41. grow gray with fear: Shelley explains: The\\nvegetation at the bottom of the sea, of rivers and of lakes, sym-\\npathizes with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is\\nconsequently influenced by the winds which announce it.\\nWith a Guitar, to Jane\\nMrs. Jane Williams, the wife of Edward Williams, who was\\ndrowned with Shelley, was a warm friend of the Shelleys.\\nMrs. Shelley speaks of her as,\\nA violet by a mossy stone\\nHalf hidden from the eye.\\nShelley writes of them as the most amiable of companions.\\nThe poem accompanied the gift of a guitar.\\nP. 14, 1. 1. Ariel to Miranda The complete beauty of the\\npoem cannot be felt without acquaintance with The Tempest.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "3ENSIT1VK plant] J^OTES SHJ^LLEY 203\\nThe Sensitive Plant\\nDuring the Shelleys sojourn at Pisa one of their most con-\\ngenial friends was Mrs. Masou (Lady Mountcashell). Slie had\\nbeen the favorite pupil of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mrs. Shelley s\\nmother, thirty years before. She is described by Medwin as\\na superior and accomplished woman, a great resource to\\nShelley, who read with her Greek. Medwin further states\\nMrs. Mason was the source of the inspiration of the Sensitive.\\nPlants and that the scene of it was laid in the garden, as un-\\npoetical a place as could well be imagined.\\nMiss Clairmont s account is suggestive of the poem: Mrs.\\nMason was very tall, of a lofty and calm presence. Her fea-\\ntures were regular and delicate her large blue eyes singularly\\nwell set her complexion of a clear pale, but yet full of life,\\nand giving an idea of health. Her countenance beamed mildly\\nwith the expression of a refined, cultivated, and highly cheerful\\nmind. She was ever all hopefulness, and serenity, and benevo-\\nlence her features were ever irradiated by these sentiments,\\nand at the same time by sentiments of purity and unconscious\\nsweetness and beauty.\\nP. 23, 1. 54. fabulous asphodel In Greek mythology the as-\\nphodel covers the fields of Hades.\\n1. 57. to roof the glow-worm Can you find a variation of\\nthis in To a Skylark f\\nP. 29, 1. 177. Baiae, a seaport near the central western coast\\nof Italy, famous as a pleasure resort during the first centuries of\\ntil is era. The ruins of many castles yet mark its former mag-\\nnificence.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "204 NOTES SHELLEY [to words worth\\nTo Wordsworth\\nP. 36, 1. 3. Childhood and youth\\nThat time is past,\\nAnd all its aching joys are now no more.\\nTintern Abbey.\\nBut Wordsworth finds abundant recompense.\\n1. 7. Thou wert as a lone star a reference to Wordsworth s\\nsympathy with the principles of the French Revolution of its\\nearly stages he writes thus in The Prelude\\nBliss was it in that dawn to be alive,\\nBut to be young was very heaven.\\nand again\\nBut Europe at that time was thrilled with joy,\\nFrance standing on the top of golden hours,\\nAnd human nature seeming born again.\\n1. 13. Deserting these The extremes to which the revolu-\\ntionists went did not meet with Wordsworth s approval France\\nseemed to him,\\nImpatient to put out the holy light\\nOf Liberty that yet remained on earth!\\nCompare Browning s Lost Leader.\\nTo Coleridge\\nThe poem beginning, Oh, there are spirits of the air, was\\naddressed in idea to Coleridge, whom he never knew and at\\nwhose character he could only guess imperfectly through his\\nwritings, and accounts he heard from some who knew him well.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "TO COLERIDGE] NOTES SHELLEY 205\\nHe regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will than\\nconviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be\\nhaunted by what Shelley considered the better and holier aspi-\\nrations of his youth. Note by Mrs. Shelley.\\nI have often questioned whether the poem has reference\\n(as Mrs. Shelley observes) to Coleridge, or whether it was not\\nrather addressed in a despondent mood by Shelley to his own\\nspirit. DowDEN.\\nP. 37, 1. 1. spirits of the air The first stanza suggests The\\nAncient Mariner and Christahel according to Trelawny, the\\nformer was recited in and out of season by Shelley.\\n1. 7. With mountain winds While Coleridge s poetry does\\nnot mark a return to nature so strongly and directly as\\nWordsworth s, he was perhaps the real leader in the revolt from\\neighteenth century standards. But see his Ode to Tranquil-\\nlity and A Sunset.\\nP. 38, 1. 27. The glory of the moon is dead The poetry that\\nentitles Coleridge to a place in the first class of English poets\\nwas all written in a year (1797-1798). His visit to Germany\\nchanged him from poet to philosopher.\\n1. 30. a foul fiend Coleridge resorted to opium shortly\\nafter his return from Germany. He never freed himself entirely\\nfrom its effects and perhaps its use.\\nMont Blanc\\nThe poem, Mont Blanc, was composed under the immedi-\\nate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the\\nobjects which it attempts to describe and as an undisciplined\\noverflowing of the soul rests its claim to approbation on ah", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "206 NOTES SHELLEY [mont Blanc\\nattempt to imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible\\nsolemnity from which these feelings sprang. Shelley.\\nP. 41, 1. 60. Far far above Study carefully lines 1-16, and\\ndecide how far the untamable wildness and inaccessible so-\\nlemnity of the scene have been imitated. What train of thought\\nis suggested by the hunter s bone and the wolf\\nP. 42, 1. 80. great Mountain The same idea with variations\\nis expressed by Lowell\\nWith our faint heart the mountain strives.\\nVision of Sir Launfal.\\nP. 43, 1. 96. Power dwells apart Yet, after all, I cannot\\nbut be conscious, in much of what 1 write, of an absence of that\\ntranquillity which is the attribute and accompaniment of\\npower. Shelley to Godwin.\\nP. 44, 1. 128. solemn power: Select the phrases and epithets\\nin stanza v. that give the lines such relentless force. What rhe-\\ntorical reason is there for the first six words in the stanza\\nHymn to Intellectual Beauty\\nP. 45, 1. 1. unseen Power: The reader will observe how\\nmuch this poem has in common with Wordsworth s great ode,\\nIntimations of Immortality. Dowden.\\nArethusa\\nThe poem embodies the substance of a Greek myth. Are-\\nthusa was a woodland nymph beloved by the river-god, Alpheus.\\nHe pursues her, and Diana, to protect the nymph, changes her\\nto a fountain. When he attempts to mingle his stream with\\nthe waters of the fountain, Diana thwarts him again. The", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "arethusa] notes SHELLEY 207\\nground is cleft, Arethusa plunges into the opening, passes\\nthrough the earth, and comes out in Sicily.\\nP. 55, 1. 1. Arethusa arose: In Shelley s poem, Arethusa is\\nrepresented as a mountain brook when Alpheus first sees her.\\nLines written Among the Euganean Hills\\nP. 68, 1. 116. Ocean s child, and then his queen Venice had\\nreached her zenitli in the fifteenth century. This verse is an\\nallusion to the unique custom of Wedding the Adriatic, a\\nceremony originated by the Doge in 1177.\\n1. 123. slave of slaves Austria.\\nP. 70, 1. 152. Celtic Anarch s hold Shelley is obscure, and per-\\nhaps inaccurate. He is thinking, perhaps, of Napoleon (though\\nNapoleon was not a Celt), who ceded the Venetian dominions to\\nAustria (1797), forced it to relinquish this territory at the\\nbattle of Austerlitz (1805), annexed it to the kingdom of Italy,\\nmaking himself the head of this kingdom, further humiliated\\nAustria at the battle of Wagram (1809), and rose to the height\\nof his power in 1811 with Eussia and Denmark his allies, and\\nAustria and Prussia completely subject to his will. Venetia\\nand Lombardy were restored by the Congress of Vienna (Sep-\\ntember, 1814, and June, 1815) to Austria, who practically ruled\\nItaly.\\n1. 158. memories of old time: Venice is first in importance\\namong the Italian city-republics.\\n1. 174. tempest-cleaving Swan: Byron. Is the epithet ap-\\npropriate\\nP. 71, 1. 177. evil dreams an allusion, perhaps, to Byron s\\npoem. The Dream.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "208 NOTES SHELLEY [euganean hills\\nP. 72, 1. 204. Mighty spirit: Shelley writes: It (one of\\nByron s poems) sets him not only above, but far above, all the\\npoets of the day, every word has the stamp of immortality. I\\ndespair of rivalling Lord Byron, as well I may, and there is no\\nother with whom it is worth contending.\\nOZYMANDIAS\\nP. 79, 1. 1. antique land Diodorus describes the statue. It\\nwas thought to be, he says, the largest in Egypt, the foot being\\nseven cubits long. It was thus inscribed: I am Ozymandias,\\nking of kings if any one wishes to know what 1 am and where\\nI lie, let him surpass me in some of my exploits.\\n1. 14. far away. Compare with stanza iii. of Mont Blanc.\\nA Summer Evening Churchyard\\nThe summer evening that suggested to him the poem written\\nin the churchyard of Lechlade occurred during his voyage up\\nthe Thames in 1815. A fortnight of a bright, warm July\\nwas spent in tracing the Thames to its source. He never spent\\na season more tranquilly. Note by Mrs. Shelley.\\nP. 82, 1. 4. In duskier braids\\nThy dewy fingers draw\\nThe gradual dusky veil.\\nCollins s Ode to Evening,\\nIn atmosphere the two poems are similar. Compare them,\\nAdonais\\nShelley is indebted to the idyls of the Greek poets, Theocri-\\ntus, Bion, and Moschus, for many of the ideas and much of the", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "ADONATS] NOTES\u00e2\u0080\u0094 SHELLEY 209\\nphraseology in his elegy on Keats. Baldwin in his Tlie Booh\\nof Elegies remarks that they [the idyls] have been imitated\\nby Spenser, improved upon by Milton, parodied by Pope and\\nGay, copied after by Shelley, and loved and admired by all\\npoets.\\nP. 92, 1, 1. Adonais a name coined by Shelley doubtless\\nsuggested, however, by the myth of Adonis. Why Compare\\nthe names Adonais and Lycidas in point of fitness.\\nP. 93, 1. 10. mighty Mother Urania, the muse of astronomy.\\nLiterally, the heavenly one. Shelley seems to accept the\\nlatter and to identify Urania with the highest spirit of lyrical\\npoetry.\\nP. 94, 1. 30. Sire of an immortal strain Milton. Who are\\nthe other two sons of light\\nP. 95, 1. 48. sad maiden Isabella. Keats,\\nP. 96, 1. 73. quick Dreams the poet s thoughts.\\nP. 100, 1. 145. lorn nightingale: an allusion to Keats s Ode\\nto a Nightingale.\\n1. 151. Curse of Cain Shelley, in the preface to Adonais,\\nexclaims, Miserable man! You, one of the meanest, have\\nwantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workman-\\nship of God. Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you\\nare, you have spoken daggers, but used none.\\nP. 101, 1. 177. Shall that alone which knows: Explain the\\nfigure. What is the intense atom\\nP. 105, 1. 238. unpastured dragon meaning\\n1. 240. Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear\\nExplain.\\n1. 250. The Pythian of the age Byron. Why Pythian", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "210 NOTES SHELLEY [adonais\\nP. 106, 1. 268. In sorrow Byron was not so generous he\\nspeaks thus of Keats\\nJohn Keats who was killed off hy one critique,\\nand again\\nWho killed John Keats\\nI, says the Quarterly,\\nSo savage and Tartarly\\nTwas one of my feats.\\n1.269. sweetest lyrist: Thomas Moore. Whether Moore\\never showed the faintest interest in or grief for Keats, I know\\nnot. W. M. RossETTi.\\nP. 107, 1. 271. Midst others of less note came one frail form.\\nThis verse with the thirty-five following refers to Shelley him-\\nself.\\nP. 108, 1. 297. A herd-abandoned deer: Compare Hamlet,\\nIII., 2:\\nWhy, let the stricken deer go weep.\\nThe hart ungalled play\\nFor some must watch, while some must sleep\\nSo runs the world away.\\nalso Merchant of Venice\\nI am a tainted wether of the flock,\\nMeetest for death.\\nP. 109, 1. 307. softer voice Leigh Hunt was Keats s earli-\\nest and chief poetical friend and adviser. Hales.\\nHe mentioned Shelley and Keats in the Examiner of Decem-\\nber, 1816, as young poets who promised to bring a con-\\nsiderable addition of strength to the new school of English", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "ADONAis] NOTFS SHELLEY 211\\npoetry. Keats s manuscripts (he had yet published nothing)\\nin particular, fairly surprised him with tlie truth of their\\nambition and ardent grappling with nature. Hunt was di-\\nrectly instrumental in bringing Shelley and Keats together, and\\nin making them personally acquainted.\\nP. 110, 1. 340. A portion of the Eternal Pantheism, the doc-\\ntrine that the universe, taken as a whole, is God. This con-\\nception, variously modified, is popular in poetry. Note other\\ninstances in this poem. Tennyson objects to the theory In\\nMemoriam, xlvii.\\nP. Ill, 1. 357. He is secure etymology of secure.\\nP. 113, 1. 393. mortal lair: Is there any special significance\\nhere in the term lair Etymology\\n1. 399. Chatterton Thomas Chatterton was born in 1752\\nand died in 1770. Read an interesting account of him in\\nEighteenth Century Literature, Gosse. Keats addresses Chat-\\nterton thus\\nThou art among the stars\\nOf highest heaven to the rolling spheres\\nThou sweetly singest nought thy hymning mars,\\nAbove the iugrate world and human fears.\\n1. 401. Sidney: Sir Philip Sidney was born in 1554 and\\ndied in 1586. Consult Elizabethan Literature, Saintsbury.\\n1. 404. Lucan Marcus Annseus Lucanus was born in 39\\nA.D. and condemned to death by Nero in 65.\\nP. 114, 1. 413. amid an Heaven of Song Compare Merchant\\nof Venice, V., i, 60.\\nThere s not the smallest orb which thou behold st\\nBut in his motion like an angel sings,", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "212 NOTES SHELLEY [adonais\\nStill quiring to the young-eyed cherubins\\nSuch harmony is in immortal souls\\nBut whilst this muddy vesture of decay\\nDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.\\n1. 416. Fond wretch etymology of fond\\nP. 116, 1. 444. one keen pyramid the tomb of Caius Cestius.\\nIn a letter to Thomas Love Peacock, Shelley writes thus of the\\ncemetery The English burying-place is a green slope near\\nthe walls [of Rome] under the pyramidal tomb of Cestius, and\\nis, I think, the most beautiful and solemn cemetery I ever\\nbeheld. To see the sun shining on its bright grass, fresh when\\nwe visited it with the autumnal dews, and hear the whispering\\nof the wind among the leaves of the trees which have over-\\ngrown the tomb of Cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the\\nsun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and\\nyoung people who were buried there, one might, if one were to\\ndie, desire the sleep they seem to sleep. Such is the human\\nmind, and so it peoples with its wishes vacancy and oblivion.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "NOTES KEATS\\nOde to a Nightingale\\nP. 120, 1. 16. Hippocrene A spring, sacred to the Muses,\\non Mount Helicon in Boeotia.\\nOde to Psyche\\nThe following poem, the last I have written, is the first and\\nonly one with which I have taken even moderate pains, I have,\\nfor the most part, dashed off my lines in a hurry this one 1\\nhave done leisurely I think it reads the more richly for it, and\\nit will, I hope, encourage me to write other things in even a\\nmore peaceful and healthy spirit. Keats, to his brother\\nGeorge.\\nP. 126, 1. 9. two fair creatures Read the myth of Cupid\\nand Psyche.\\nP. 127, 1. 30. delicious moan: Compare The Eve of St.\\nAgneSy vii., 2.\\nTo Autumn\\nI never liked stubble-fields so much as now aye, better\\nthan the chilly green of spring. Somehow a stubble-plain looks\\n213", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "214 NOTES KEATS [to autumn\\nwarm, in the same way that some pictures look warm. This\\nstruck me so much in my Sunday s walk that I composed upon\\nit. Keats to Reynolds.\\nP. 129, 1. 14. Thee sitting Read Gray s ode On the Spring^\\nthen Collins s Passions. Compare the two poems with Keats s\\nin the use of personification.\\nOde on Melancholy\\nP. 131, 1. 26. sovran shrine:\\nThe very source and fount of Day\\nIs dashed with wandering isles of night.\\nIn Memoriam, xxiv.\\nFancy\\nP. 132, 1. 21. heavy shoon\\nAnd the dull swain\\nTreads on it daily with his clouted shoon.\\nMilton s Comus, 634-635.\\nP. 133, 1. 46. sticks and straw: Note the onomatopoeia;\\ncompare\\nThe swallow twittering from the straw-built shed.\\nGray s Elegy.\\nP. 135, 1. 81. Ceres daughter Compare Milton s description\\nProserpin gathering flowers,\\nHerself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis\\nWas gathered which cost Ceres all that pain\\nTo seek her through the world.\\nParadise Lost, IV., 269-272.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "chapman s homer] notes KEATS 215\\nOn First looking into Chapman s Homer\\nCharles Cowden Clarke and Keats had read Chapman far\\ninto the night. Early the next morning the sonnet was handed\\nto Clarke. It was written in 1816 and is considered the best of\\nKeats s early work.\\nP. 140, 1. 8. Chapman 1557-1634. He was, therefore, a\\ncontemporary of Shakespeare s. He wrote poetry and dramas,\\nbut is best known by his translation of Homer.\\n1. 11. Cortez It should be Balboa, but the beauty of the\\npoem is not marred by the error.\\nSonnet to Homer\\nP. 143, 1. 1. giant ignorance an allusion to Keats s igno-\\nrance of the Greek language.\\n1. 11. a budding morrow: It will be of interest to many\\nlovers both of Keats and Rossetti [D. G.] to learn that the latter\\npoet, whom we have but lately lost, considered this sonnet to\\ncontain Keats s finest single line of poetry\\nThere is a budding morrow in midnight,\\na line which Rossetti told me he thought one of the finest in all\\npoetry. Form an.\\nCompare the verse with stanza iii. Ode on 3Ielancholy.\\nI stood Tip-toe upon a Little Hill\\nMr. Keats is seen to his best advantasje [in this poem], and\\ndisplays all that fertile power of association and imagery which", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "216 NOTES KEATS [i stood tip-toe\\nconstitutes the abstract poetical faculty as distinguished from\\nevery other. Leigh Hunt.\\nP. 146, 1. 18. its brim Note the point of view.\\nP. 147, 1. 22. jaunty meaning\\n1. 29. bees about them cf Ode to a Nightingale, stanza v.\\nalso To Autumn, stanza i.\\n1. 38. frequent chequer frequent checker shadows alter-\\nnating with patches of sunshine.\\nP. 149, 1. 73. wavy bodies\\nA shoal\\nOf devious minnows wheel from where a pike\\nLurked balanced neath the lily pad, and whirl\\nA rood of silver bellies to the day.\\nLowell.\\nUnder the Willows is throughout strikingly suggestive of\\nKeats s poem.\\nP. 150, 1. 92. yellow flutterings Explain.\\nP. 151, 1. 129. staid regular, grave, calm.\\nP. 152, 1. 162. Narcissus Because of his insensibility to love\\nhe was made to worship his own image in the water. He was\\nfinally changed to the flower which bears his name. Echo,\\nwhose love for him was not returned, died of grief.\\nIsabella or, the Pot of Basil.\\nThe story is told by Boccaccio, Decamerone, Giorn. IV.,\\nNov. 5.\\nP. 166, 1. 209. murdered man The following masterly an-\\nticipation of his end, conveyed in a single word, has been justly\\nadmired. Leigh Hunt.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "ISABELLA] NOTES KEATS 217\\nP. 169, 1. 262. Hinnom s vale the valley of Hlnnom where\\nMoloch was worshipped. Compare Milton s description in Para-\\ndise Lost, I., 392-405, also Moloch s speech, II., 51-105.\\nP. 175, 1. 393. Persdan sword the sword with which Perseus\\nslew Medusa, one of the three gorgons.\\nP. 178, 1. 442. Melpomene: the muse of tragedy.\\n1.451. Baalites of pelf: those who worship money as the\\npagans worship Baal.\\nP. 180, 1. 493. the Pilgrim This does not refer to Lorenzo.\\nThe Eve of St. Agnes\\nSt. Agnes was a Roman virgin, who suffered martyrdom in\\nthe reign of Diocletian. Her parents, a few days after her\\ndecease, are said to have had a vision of her, surrounded by\\nangels, and attended by a white lamb which afterward became\\nsacred to her. In the Catholic Church, formerly, the nuns used\\nto bring a couple of lambs to her altar during Mass. The super-\\nstition is that by taking certain measures of divination, damsels\\nmay get a sight of their future husbands in a dream. The\\nordinary process seems to have been by fasting.\\nLeigh Hunt.\\nSt. Agnes s Day is January 21 St. Agnes s Eve, January\\n20.\\nP. 183, 1. 31. snarling trumpets Does the adjective denote\\na quality of the sound, or is it, from Porphyro s point of view,\\ndescriptive of the situation\\nP. 188, 1. 120. witch s sieve: Compare Macbeth^ I., iii., 8.\\nP. 190, 1. 171. Merlin paid his Demon The monstrous debt\\nwas his monstrous existence which he owed to a demon and", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "218 NOTES KEATS [st. agnes\\nrepaid when he died or disa])peared through the working of one\\nof his own spells by Viviane. Forman.\\nCompare Tennyson s Vivian in Idylls of the King.\\nP. 193, 1. 218. gules How proper, as well as pretty, the\\nheraldic term gules, considering the occasion. Bed would not\\nhave been a fiftieth part as good. Leigh Hunt.\\nP. 194, 1. 241. where swart Paynims pray Paynim pagan.\\nTherefore a missal would be treasured more highly because of\\ndangerous surrouudings.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO NOTES\\nAdonais, 208.\\nArethusa, 206.\\nAusterlitz, battle of, 207.\\nAustria, 207.\\nAutumn, Ode to, 213.\\nBaiae, 203.\\nBalboa, 215.\\nBaldwin, The Book of Elegies,\\n209.\\nBion. 208.\\nBoccaccio, 216.\\nBrowning, Lost Leader, 204\\nByron, 207, 209, 210.\\nThe Dream, 207.\\nCestius, Caius, 212.\\nChapman, 215.\\nChatterton, 211.\\nChurchyard, A Summer Evening,\\n208.\\nClairmont, Miss, 203.\\nCloud, The, 201.\\nColeridge, Sonnet to, 204.\\nAncient Mariner, 205.\\nColeridge, Christabel, 205.\\nOde to Tranquillity\\n205.\\nA Sunset, 205.\\nCollins, Ode to Evening, 208.\\nThe Passions, 214.\\nCortez, 215.\\nDenmark, 207.\\nDiocletian, 217.\\nDowden, 202, 205, 206.\\nEgypt, 208.\\nEuganean Hills, Lines written\\namong, 207.\\nEve of St. Agnes, 217.\\nForman, H. B., 215, 218.\\nFrance. 204.\\nFrench Revolution, 204.\\nGay, 209.\\nGodwin, William, 206.\\nGosse, Eighteenth Century Lit-\\nerature, 211.\\n219", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "220\\nINDEX TO NOTES\\nGray, Elegy, 214.\\nGray, Ode on Spring, 214.\\nHades, fields of, 203.\\nHales, 210.\\nHamlet, 210.\\nHippocrene, 213.\\nHomer, On First Looking into\\nChapman s, 215.\\nSonnet to, 215.\\nHunt, 210, 216, 217, 218.\\nI stood Tip-toe upon a Little Hill,\\n215.\\nIsabella or the Pot of Basil, 216.\\nItaly, Kingdom of. 207.\\nKeats, George, 213.\\nJohn, 209, 210, 211, 215.\\nLowell, Vision of Sir Launfal,\\n206.\\nUnder the Willows, 216.\\nLucan, 211.\\nMason, Mrs. (LadyMountcashell),\\n203.\\nMed win, 203.\\nMelancholy, Ode on, 214.\\nMerchant of Venice, 210, 211.\\nMilton, Lycidas, 209.\\nComus, 214.\\nMont Blanc, 205.\\nMoore, 210.\\nMoschus, 208.\\nNapoleon, 207.\\nNarcissus, 216.\\nNero, 211.\\nNightingale, Ode to, 209, 213.\\nOzymandias, 208.\\nPeacock, 212.\\nPerseus, 217.\\nPisa, 203.\\nPope, 209.\\nPrussia, 207.\\nPsyche, Ode to, 213.\\nReynolds, Sir Joshua, 214.\\nRossetti, W. M., 210.\\nD. G., 214.\\nRussia, 207.\\nSaintsbury, Elizabethan Litera-\\nture, 211.\\nSensitive Plant, The, 203.\\nShelley, P. B., 202, 205. 210.\\nMrs.,203, 205, 208.\\nSidney, Sir Philip, 211.\\nSkylark, Ode to, 201.\\nSpenser, 209.\\nTempest, The, 202.\\nTennyson, In Memoriam, 211,\\n214.\\nIdylls of the King, 218.\\nThames, The, 208.\\nTheocritus, 208.\\nTrelawny, 205.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO NOTES\\n221\\nUrania, 209.\\nVenice, 207.\\nVienna, Congress of, 207.\\nWagram, battle of, 207.\\nWest Wind, Ode to, 202.\\nWilliams, Edward, 202.\\nWollstonecraft, Mary, 203.\\nWordsworth, 205.\\nPrelude, 204.\\nSonnet to, 204.\\nTintern Abbey,\\n203.\\nNight Piece, 201.\\nIntimations of Im-\\nmortality, 206.", "height": "2500", "width": "1742", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "COLLEGE ENTRANCE REQUIREMENTS\\nIN ENGLISH.\\nFor 1900, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1905.\\nOfficial List.\\nREQUIRED FOR CAREFUL STUDY.\\nBurke s Speech on Conciliation\\nwith America 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nMacaulay s Essays on Milton\\nand Addison 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nMilton s Minor Poems 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nMilton s Paradise Lost, Books I.\\nand II 1900\\nShakespeare s Macbeth 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nREQUIRED FOR GENERAL READING.\\nAddison s The Sir Roger de\\nCoverley Papers 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nCarlyle s Essay on Burns 1903 1904 1905\\nColeridge s The Ancient Mariner 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nCooper s The Last of the Mohi-\\ncans 1900 1901 1902\\nDe Quincey s The Flight of a\\nlartar Tribe 1900\\nDryden s Palamon and Arcite 1900\\nEliot s Silas Marner 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nGoldsmiths The Vicar of Wake-\\nfield igoo 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nLowell s The Vision of Sir Laun-\\nfal 1900 1903 1904 1905\\nPope s Iliad, Books I., VI., XXII.,\\nand XXIV 1900 1901 1902\\nScott s Ivanhoe 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nShakespeare s The Merchant of\\nVenice 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905\\nShakespeare s Julius Caesar 1903 1904 1905\\nTennyson s The Princess 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "MACMILLAN S\\nPOCKET SERIES OF ENGLISH\\nCLASSICS\\nUniform in Size and Binding\\nLevanteen 25 Cents Each\\nComments\\nEmily I. Meader, Classical High School, Providence, R. I.\\nThe samples of new English Classics meet a need I have felt in\\nregard to the school editions of the classics. These books are artistic\\nin make-up, as well as cheap. The clothes of our books, as of our\\nfriends, influence our enjoyment of their blessings. It has seemed to\\nme incongruous to try to establish and cultivate a taste for good litera-\\nture, which is essentially and delightfully diverse, when that literature is\\nbound in uniform drab cloth.\\nMary F. Hendrick, Normal School, Cortlandt, N. Y.\\nYour English Classics Series is a little gem. It is cheap, durably\\nbound, excellent type and paper, and especially well adapted for students\\nwork, as the notes are to the point and not burdensome.\\nMary C Lovejoy, Central High School, Buffalo, N. Y.\\nI think you have provided such an attractive help for students that\\nthey will be incited to add to their collection of books.\\nProfessor L. L Sprague, Wyoming Seminary, Kingston, Pa.\\nThe Essay on Milton and Essay on Addison are exceedingly\\nwell edited, and in beauty of type and binding are not surpassed by\\nsimilar works of any other publishing house.\\nB. W. Hutchinson, Genesee Wesleyan Seminary, Lima, N Y.\\nI am in receipt of French s Macaulay s Essay on Milton, and am\\ndelighted with the book. The publisher s part of the work deserves\\nspecial mention as being exceptionally good, while the editor s task\\nappears to be done in first-class taste throughout.\\nSuperintendent J. C. Simpson, Portsmouth, N H.\\nI congratulate you upon your happy combination of an artistic and\\nscholarly book with a price that makes it easily available.", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "Comments on Pocket ^tiits\\nT. C. Blaisdell, Fifth Avenue Normal School, Pittsburg, Pa.\\nI wish to tliank you for a copy ol The Princess, in your Pocket\\nSeries. I have examined the volume with pleasure. The introduction\\nis excellent, the brief treatment of Tennyson s Work and Art being\\nespecially interesting and helpful. The notes ?.t times seem to explain\\nthe obvious in a buok for young students, however, that is the safe side\\nto err on. The editing, the clear type, the dainty binding, and the pocket\\nsize combine to make the book one that will be a pleasure to the student.\\nSuperintendent Wm. E. Chancellor, Bloomfield, N. J.\\nI have read from cover to cover the edition of Macaulay s Essay\\non Addison, by Principal French, of Hyde Park High School, Chicago,\\nand find the edition all that can be desired. The several introductions\\nare, from my point of view, exactly what they ought to be. The notes\\nseem to me particularly wise and helpful. Your edition is not only the\\nbest at its price, but it is better than every other which I have seen, and\\nI have taken great pains to inform myself regarding all editions of\\nEnglish Classics for schools.\\nFrancis A. Bagnall, Principal High School, St Albans, Vt.\\nThey appeal to me as combining convenience and attractiveness of\\nform and excellence of contents.\\nB. A. Heydrick, State Normal School, Millersville, Pa.\\nI know of no edition that can compare with yours in attractiveness\\nand cheapness. So far as I have examined it the editor s work has been\\njudiciously performed. But well-edited texts are easy to find you have\\ndone something new in giving us a beautiful book, one that will teach\\npupils to love and care for books; and, which seems to me quite as\\nimportant, you have made an edition which does not look school-\\nbooky.\\nEliza M. Bullock, Principal Girls High School, Montgomery, Ala.\\nI think your books of the Pocket Series of English Classics the best\\nI have seen, the most complete in every way. I am enthusiastic about\\nthe delightful volumes I have seen.\\nC. E. E Mosher, Preparatory School, New Bedford, Mass.\\nTheir outward form and dress are a pleasure to the eye, while thei!\\ninward matter and arrangement are a source of delight to the mind.\\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\\n66 FIFTH AVENUE, KEW YORK", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "Works by Prof. E. H. LEWIS\\nOf Lewis Institute and the University of Chicago\\nA First Book in Writing English\\ni2nio. Buckram. Price 80 cents\\nAlbert H. Smyth, Central High School, Philadelphia.\\nI have read it carefully and am much pleased with the way the work\\nhas been done. It is careful, thoughtful, and clearly arranged. The\\nquotations are apt and judiciously selected. It is the best book of its\\nsize and scope that I am acquamted with.\\nSarah V. Chollar, State Normal School, Potsdam, N. Y.\\nThe author has made an admirable selection of topics for treatment\\nin this book, and has presented them in a way that cannot fail to be\\nhelpful to teachers who have classes doing this grade of work.\\nAn Introduction to the Study of Literature\\nFor the use of Secondary and Graded Schools.\\n121T10. Cloth. Price $1.00\\nThis book is a collection of short masterpieces of modern literature\\narranged in groups, each group interpreting some one phase of adolescent\\ninterest, e.g., The Athlete; The Heroism of War; rhe Heroism of\\nPeace; The Adventurer; The Far Goal; The Morning Land-\\nscape; The Gentleman; The Hearth. A chronological table is\\ngiven at the end ol the book, by centuries and half centuries, showing at\\nwhat age each author began to publish, and the name and date of his first\\nbook. The selections together form an anthology of English prose and\\nverse, but it is more than an ordinary anthology it is constructed so as to\\nbe of value not only to the scholar but also to the teacher and general\\nreader. Each section is opened with a critical introduction which will\\nserve as a guide both to teacher and student.\\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\\n66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "From Chaucer to Arnold\\nTypes of Literary Art in Prose and Verse. An Introduction to\\nEnglish Literature, with Preface and Notes. By Andrew J.\\nGeorge, A.M., Department of English, High School, Newton, Mass.\\nCloth. 8vo. Price $1.00\\nAlbert H Smyth, Central High School, Philadelphia.\\nIn George s Chaucer to Arnold I recognize many favorites and\\nthink the editing and the annotation remarkably well done; the notes\\nare sufficiently brief and clear, the bibliography judicious, and a fine\\nspirit of appreciation is shown.\\nPrinciples of English Grammar\\nFor the use of Schools. By George R. Carpenter, Professor of\\nRhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University.\\ni2mo. Half=Leather. Price 75 cents\\nProfessor Fred W Reynolds, University of Utah.\\nFor a straightforward discussion of the principles of grammar, the\\nbook is among tlie best 1 have ever seen.\\nAmerican Prose Selections\\nWith Critical Introductions by Various Writers and z General Intro-\\nduction edited by George Rice Carpenter, Columbia University.\\ni2mo. Clotli. Price $1.00\\nF. A Voght, Principal Central High School, Buffalo.\\nIt is a pleasure to take up so handsome a volume. The selections\\nare most ndmirable and the character sketches of authors are bright,\\nchatty, clear, and concise.\\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\\n66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "t^ i4 6 J", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "the Bookkeeper process.\\nlagnesium Oxide\\no\\n^//^o/x-^^^O", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "-r^ ^v^ nO c. .^^^xiss^.-\\n.^0\\n,r.^ o\\nc^^ -S^ oV\\no\\nv\\nA H\\nV\\nc\\ns\\nO\\nV\\no\\ny\\n-S^\\no^\\nO C-\\nrP\\nO.\\nv\\\\ h\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2r--", "height": "2526", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\n014 527 978 1\\nUnnwHwui", "height": "2734", "width": "1867", "jp2-path": "poemsfromshelley00sel_0298.jp2"}}