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hoath fengers beary a rome
sua epelids. Leavy a red A hom » А я шеи, а по
Plying Leu needle & Threew .
Star, otitch, outch
the sung this song of the sheit!
Twas soar this! such hour that came
Stith incremitting, bought.
m silmne frims.
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
| And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us A sigh that piercing mortifies,
Of that which made our childhood sweeter still ; A look that's fastened to the ground,
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us A tongue chained up without a sound !
A nearer good to cure an older ill ;
And sweet are all things, when we learn to prize Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
them, Places which pale passion loves !
Not for their sake, but His who grants them or Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Written in the spring of 1819, when suffering from physical depression, the precursor of his death, which happened soon after.
AUBREY DE VERE,
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'T is not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness, –
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of Summer in full-throated ease.
O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Cooled a long age in the deep delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth, -
That I might drink, and leave the world un-, Heigh-ho ! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly :
seen, Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; SAD IS OUR YOUTH, FOR IT IS EVER Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, GOING.
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and Sad is our youth, for it is ever going,
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
And leaden-eyed despairs, Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, In current unperceived, because so fleet;
Or new Love pine at then beyond to-morrow. Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sow
ing, But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat; Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blow- ! Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, ing,
| But on the viewless wings of Poesy, And still, o, still their dying breath is sweet; s Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :
Already with thee! tender is the night, THE SUN IS WARM, THE SKY IS CLEAR.
STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES.
The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent light :
The breath of the moist air is light
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight, -
The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods', But in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet
| The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.
Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown :
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion, Darkling I listen ; and for many a time
How sweet, did any heart now share in my I have been half in love with easeful Death.
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
And walked with inward glory crowned, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. vain
Others I see whom these surround ;
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ;
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down; Yet now despair itself is mild
I could lie down like a tired child,
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.