The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley

  V

  25

  Those boiling waves,

  And the storm that raves

  At night o’er their foaming crest,

  Resemble the strife

  That, from earliest life,

  30

  The passions have waged in my breast.

  VI

  Oh, come, then, and rove

  To the sea or the grove,

  When the moon is rising bright;

  And I’ll whisper there,

  35

  In the cool night-air,

  What I dare not in broad daylight.

  INDEX OF FIRST LINES

  A cat in distress

  A gentle story of two lovers young

  A glorious people vibrated again

  A golden-wingèd Angel stood

  A Hater he came and sat by a ditch

  A man who was about to hang himself

  A pale Dream came to a Lady fair

  A portal as of shadowy adamant

  A rainbow’s arch stood on the sea

  A scene, which ’wildered fancy viewed

  A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew

  A shovel of his ashes took

  A widow bird sate mourning

  A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune

  Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary

  Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear

  Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill

  Ah, sister! Desolation is a delicate thing

  Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain

  Alas! for Liberty!

  Alas, good friend, what profit can you see

  Alas! this is not what I thought life was

  Ambition, power, and avarice, now have hurled

  Amid the desolation of a city

  Among the guests who often stayed

  An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king

  And can’st thou mock mine agony, thus calm

  And earnest to explore within—around

  And ever as he went he swept a lyre

  And, if my grief should still be dearer to me

  And like a dying lady, lean and pale

  And many there were hurt by that strong boy

  And Peter Bell, when he had been

  And said I that all hope was fled

  And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal

  And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains

  And when the old man saw that on the green

  And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee

  And who feels discord now or sorrow?

  Arethusa arose

  Ariel to Miranda:—Take

  Arise, arise, arise!

  Art thou indeed forever gone

  Art thou pale for weariness

  As a violet’s gentle eye

  As from an ancestral oak

  As I lay asleep in Italy

  As the sunrise to the night

  Ask not the pallid stranger’s woe

  At the creation of the Earth

  Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon

  Bear witness, Erin! when thine injured isle

  Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth

  Beside the dimness of the glimmering sea

  Best and brightest, come away!

  Break the dance, and scatter the song

  Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even

  Bright clouds float in heaven

  Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven

  Brothers! between you and me

  ‘Buona notte, buona notte!’—Come mai

  By the mossy brink

  Chameleons feed on light and air

  Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling

  Come, be happy!—sit near me

  Come [Harriet]! sweet is the hour

  Come hither, my sweet Rosalind

  Come, thou awakener of the spirit’s ocean

  Corpses are cold in the tomb

  Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind

  Darkness has dawned in the East

  Dar’st thou amid the varied multitude

  Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody

  Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys

  Dearest, best and brightest

  Death is here and death is there

  Death! where is thy victory?

  Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end?

  Do you not hear the Aziola cry?

  Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb ?

  Earth, ocean, air, belovèd brotherhood

  Echoes we: listen!

  Ever as now with Love and Virtue’s glow

  Faint with love, the Lady of the South

  Fairest of the Destinies

  False friend, wilt thou smile or weep

  Far, far away, O ye

  Fiend, I defy thee! with a calm, fixed mind

  Fierce roars the midnight storm

  Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow

  Follow to the deep wood’s weeds

  For me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble

  For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave

  For your letter, dear [Hattie], accept my best thanks

  From all the blasts of heaven thou hast descended

  From the cities where from caves

  From the ends of the earth, from the ends of the earth

  From the forests and highlands

  From unremembered ages we

  Gather, O gather

  Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling

  God prosper, speed, and save

  Good-night ? ah! no; the hour is ill

  Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought

  Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I

  Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

  Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind

  Hark! the owlet flaps her wing

  Hark! the owlet flaps his wings

  Hast thou not seen, officious with delight

  He came like a dream in the dawn of life

  He wanders, like a day-appearing dream

  Hell is a city much like London

  Her hair was brown, her spherèd eyes were brown

  Her voice did quiver as we parted

  Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink

  ’Here lieth One whose name was writ on water’

  Here, my dear friend, is a new book for you

  Here, oh, here

  Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali

  His face was like a snake’s—wrinkled and loose

  Honey from silkworms who can gather

  Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts

  How eloquent are eyes

  How, my dear Mary,—are you critic-bitten

  How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner

  How sweet it is to sit and read the tales

  How swiftly through Heaven’s wide expanse

  How wonderful is Death

  How wonderful is Death

  I am afraid these verses will not please you, but

  I am as a spirit who has dwelt

  I am drunk with the honey wine

  I arise from dreams of thee

  I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers

  I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way

  I dreamed that Milton’s spirit rose, and took

  I faint, I perish with my love! I grow

  I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden

  I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan

  I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake

  I loved—alas! our life is love

  I met a traveller from an antique land

  I mourn Adonis dead—loveliest Adonis

  I pant for the music which is divine

  I rode one evening with Count Maddalo

  I sate beside a sage’s bed

  I sate beside the Steersman then, and gazing


  I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes

  I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret

  I stood within the City disinterred

  I weep for Adonais—he is dead!

  I went into the deserts of dim sleep

  I would not be a king—enough

  If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains

  If I esteemed you less, Envy would kill

  If I walk in Autumn’s even

  In the cave which wild weeds cover

  In the sweet solitude of this calm place

  Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles

  Is it that in some brighter sphere

  Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He

  Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer

  It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven

  It is the day when all the sons of God

  It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky

  It was a bright and cheerful afternoon

  Kissing Helena, together

  Let there be light! said Liberty

  Let those who pine in pride or in revenge

  Life of Life! thy lips enkindle

  Lift not the painted veil which those who live

  Like the ghost of a dear friend dead

  Listen, listen, Mary mine

  Lo, Peter in Hell’s Grosvenor Square

  Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me

  Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow

  Many a green isle needs must be

  Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse

  Men of England, wherefore plough

  Methought I was a billow in the crowd

  Mighty eagle! thou that soarest

  Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed

  Monarch of Gods and Daemons, and all Spirits

  Month after month the gathered rains descend

  Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale

  Muse, sing the deeds of golden Aphrodite

  Music, when soft voices die

  My coursers are fed with the lightning

  My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone

  My faint spirit was sitting in the light

  My head is heavy, my limbs are weary

  My head is wild with weeping for a grief

  My lost William, thou in whom

  My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few

  My soul is an enchanted boat

  My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim

  My thoughts arise and fade in solitude

  My wings are folded o’er mine ears

  Night, with all thine eyes look down!

  Night! with all thine eyes look down!

  No access to the Duke! You have not said

  No, Music, thou art not the ‘food of Love’

  No trump tells thy virtues

  Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame

  Not far from hence. From yonder pointed hill

  Now had the loophole of that dungeon, still

  Now the last day of many days

  O Bacchus, what a world of toil, both now

  O happy Earth! reality of Heaven

  O Mary dear, that you were here

  O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age

  O pillow cold and wet with tears!

  O Slavery! thou frost of the world’s prime

  O that a chariot of cloud were mine!

  O that mine enemy had written

  O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line

  O thou immortal deity

  O thou, who plumed with strong desire

  O universal Mother, who dost keep

  O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being

  O world! O life! O time!

  Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more

  Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass

  Oh! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes

  Oh! there are spirits of the air

  Oh! what is the gain of restless care

  On a battle-trumpet’s blast

  On a poet’s lips I slept

  On the brink of the night and the morning

  Once, early in the morning

  One sung of thee who left the tale untold

  One word is too often profaned

  Orphan Hours, the Year is dead

  Our boat is asleep on Serchio’s stream

  Our spoil is won

  Over the utmost hill at length I sped

  Palace-roof of cloudless nights!

  Pan loved his neighbour Echo—but that child

  People of England, ye who toil and groan

  Peter Bells, one, two and three

  Place, for the Marshal of the Masque!

  Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know

  Prince Athanase had one belovèd friend

  Rarely, rarely, comest thou

  Reach me that handkerchief!—My brain is hurt

  Returning from its daily quest, my Spirit

  Rome has fallen, ye see it lying

  Rough wind, that moanest loud

  Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth

  See yon opening flower

  Serene in his unconquerable might

  Shall we roam, my love

  She comes not; yet I left her even now

  She left me at the silent time

  She saw me not—she heard me not—alone

  She was an agèd woman; and the years

  Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou

  Silver key of the fountain of tears

  Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove

  Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain

  So now my summer task is ended, Mary

  So we sate joyous as the morning ray

  Stern, stern is the voice of fate’s fearful command

  Such hope, as is the sick despair of good

  Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds

  Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring

  Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one

  Sweet star, which gleaming o’er the darksome scene

  Swift as a spirit hastening to his task

  Swifter far than summer’s flight

  Swiftly walk o’er the western wave

  Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light

  That matter of the murder is hushed up

  That night we anchored in a woody bay

  That time is dead for ever, child!

  The awful shadow of some unseen Power

  The babe is at peace within the womb

  The billows on the beach are leaping around it

  The cold earth slept below

  The curtain of the Universe

  The death-bell beats!

  The death knell is ringing

  The Devil, I safely can aver

  The Devil now knew his proper cue

  The Elements respect their Maker’s seal!

  The everlasting universe of things

  The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses

  The fiery mountains answer each other

  The fitful alternations of the rain

  The flower that smiles to-day

  The fountains mingle with the river

  The gentleness of rain was in the wind

  The golden gates of Sleep unbar

  The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness

  The keen stars were twinkling

  The odour from the flower is gone

  The old man took the oars, and soon the bark

  The pale stars are gone

  The pale stars of the morn

  The pale, the cold, and the moony smile

  The path through which that lovely twain

  The rose that drinks the fountain dew

  The rude wind is singing

  The season was the childhood of sweet June

  The serpent is shut out from Paradise

  The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie

  The spider spreads her webs, whether she be

  The starlight smile of children, the sweet looks


  The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light

  The sun is set; the swallows are asleep

  The sun is warm, the sky is clear

  The sun makes music as of old

  The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness

  The viewless and invisible Consequence

  The voice of the Spirits of Air and of Earth

  The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing

  The waters are flashing

  The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere

  The world is dreary

  The world is now our dwelling-place

  The world’s great age begins anew

  Then weave the web of the mystic measure

  There is a warm and gentle atmosphere

  There late was One within whose subtle being

  There was a little lawny islet

  There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel

  These are two friends whose lives were undivided

  They die—the dead return not—Misery

  Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil

  Thou art fair, and few are fairer

  Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all

  Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues

  Thou supreme Goddess! by whose power divine

  Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be

  Thou wert the morning star among the living

  Thrice three hundred thousand years

  Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die

  Thy beauty hangs around thee like

  Thy country’s curse is on thee, darkest crest

  Thy dewy looks sink in my breast

  Thy little footsteps on the sands

  Thy look of love has power to calm

  ’Tis midnight now—athwart the murky air

  ’Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail

  To me this world’s a dreary blank

  To the deep, to the deep

  To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander

  Tremble, Kings despised of man

  ’Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings

  ’Twas at this season that Prince Athanase

  ’Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling

  ’Twas dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling

  Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years

  Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun

  Vessels of heavenly medicine! may the breeze

  Victorious Wrong, with vulture scream

  Wake the serpent not—lest he

  Was there a human spirit in the steed

  We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon

  We come from the mind

  We join the throng

  We meet not as we parted

  We strew these opiate flowers

  Wealth and dominion fade into the mass

  Weave the dance on the floor of the breeze

  Weep not, my gentle boy; he struck but me

  What! alive and so bold, O Earth?

  What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest