Stanzas Written Near Naples 3167 I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed, And the starry night, Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms- Which is Nature's, and may be Untainted by man's misery. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? But thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. I love Love-though he has wings, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee! Thou art love and life! Oh, come, Make once more my heart thy home! Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Like many a voice of one delight, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweed strown; Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone; The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion,— How sweet, did any heart now share in my emotion! Alas! I have nor hope nor health, And walked with inward glory crowned,- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;- Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Some might lament that I were cold, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, They might lament-for I am one Whom men love not, and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] Sunset Wings 3169 SUNSET WINGS TO-NIGHT this sunset spreads two golden wings Cleaving the western sky; Winged too with wind it is, and winnowings Sun-steeped in fire, the homeward pinions sway And clouds of starlings, ere they rest with day, Each tree heart-deep the wrangling rout receives,- You could not tell the starlings from the leaves; Then one great puff of wings, and the swarm heaves Away with all its din. Even thus Hope's hours, in ever-eddying flight, With the first light she laughed, and the last light And now the mustering rooks innumerable While for the day's death, like a tolling knell, Is Hope not plumed, as 'twere a fiery dart? Even as thou goest must she too depart, And Sorrow fold such pinions on the heart Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882] MORALITY WE cannot kindle when we will But tasks in hours of insight willed With aching hands and bleeding feet Then, when the clouds are off the soul, Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, And she, whose answer thou dost dread A strong emotion on her cheek! "Ah, child," she cries, "that strife divine, Whence was it, for it is not mine? "There is no effort on my brow— "I knew not yet the gauge of time, Mutability 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, And lay upon the breast of God. 3171 Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] CUI BONO WHAT is Hope? A smiling rainbow What is Life? A thawing iceboard What is Man? A foolish baby, Vainly strives, and fights, and frets; Demanding all, deserving nothing; One small grave is what he gets. Thomas Carlyle [1795-1881] MUTABILITY THE flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts, and then flies. Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and all Which ours we call. |