Percy Bysshe Shelley.
FROM the forests and highlands
We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
waves are dumb,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees on the
bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle bushes,
The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelions shadow, outgrowing
The light of
the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the
woods and waves,
To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did
then attend and follow,
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dædal earth,
And of heaven, and the giant wars,
love, and death, and birth.
And then I changed my pipings
Singing how down the vale of Mænalus
a maiden, and claspd a reed:
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus;
It breaks in our bosom, and then
All weptas I think both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood
At the sorrow
of my sweet pipings.
BEST and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour
of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissd the forehead of the Earth;
And smiled upon the silent
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all their fountains;
And breathed upon the
And like a prophetess of May
Strewd flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs
To the silent wilderness
the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in anothers mind,
While the touch of
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomd visitor:
gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflection, you may come to-morrow;
Sit by the
fireside with Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,
You tiresome verse-reciter, Care,
I will pay you in the
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough.
Hope, in pity,
mock not Woe
With smiles, nor follow where I go;
Long having lived on your sweet food,
At length I find
one moments good
After long pain: with all your love,
This you never told me of.
Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains;
the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves;
Where the pine its garland weaves
green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be,
And the sandhills
of the sea;
When the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers, and violets
yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep
east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet
the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
THE worlds great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake
Her winter weeds outworn:
Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam
Like wrecks of a dissolving