Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever 125 Mont Blanc yet gleams on high :-the power is there, The still and solemn power, of many sights 130 And many sounds, and much of life and death. Silently there, and heap the snow, with breath 135 Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome 140 Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee! And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea, If to the human mind's imaginings Silence and solitude were vacancy? June 23, 1816. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed!-Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; 5 Within thy breath and on thy hair, like odour it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet, Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget! A breathless awe, like the swift change Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The By the enchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career, Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, 10 15 Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disap pear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. Fall on my overflowing eyes; My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn; Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep 30 35 40 Round western isles with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. 1817. SONNET-OZYMANDIAS I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 5 Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away." 10 LINES THAT time is dead for ever, child, And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale, and ghast, The stream we gazed on then, rolled by ; But we yet stand In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears which fade and fly November 5, 1817. 5 10 LINES TO A CRITIC HONEY from silkworms who can gather, The grass may grow in winter weather Hate men who cant, and men who pray, And men who rail like thee; They are not coy like me. 5 An equal passion to repay, Or seek some slave of power and gold, To be thy dear heart's mate; 10 Thy love will move that bigot cold, A passion like the one I prove I hate thy want of truth and love- December, 1817. PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES LISTEN, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine; It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Heard in its raging ebb and flow By the captives pent in the cave below. Is a mighty mountain dim and gray, Which between the earth and sky doth lay; On the dim starlight then is spread, And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm. May 4, 1818. ON A FADED VIOLET THE odour from the flower is gone A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, 15 5 10 5 |