But thou art fled, gone down the dreary road, That leads to Sorrow's most obscure abode; Thou sittest on the hearth of pale despair,

where

For thine own sake I cannot follow thee.

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY

With what truth may I say ·

Roma, Roma, Roma,
Non è più come era prima!

I

My lost William, thou in whom
Some bright spirit lived, and did
That decaying robe consume

Which its lustre faintly hid,-
Here its ashes find a tomb;

But beneath this pyramid

Thou art not if a thing divine

Like thee can die, thy funeral shrine
Is thy mother's grief and mine.

II

Where art thou, my gentle child?
Let me think thy spirit feeds,
With its life intense and mild,
The love of living leaves and weeds
Among these tombs and ruins wild;

Let me think that through low seeds

To William Shelley. Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || To William, Harvard MS. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, dated 1819. Motto: may I, Harvard MS. || I may, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. ii. 3 with, Harvard MS. || within, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

Of sweet flowers and sunny grass
Into their hues and scents may pass
A portion

LINES WRITTEN FOR THE POEM TO
WILLIAM SHELLEY

I

THE world is now our dwelling-place;
Where'er the earth one fading trace

Of what was great and free does keep,
That is our home!

Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race
Shall our contented exile reap;
For who that in some happy place
His own free thoughts can freely chase
By woods and waves can clothe his face
In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep.

II

This lament,

The memory of thy grievous wrong

Will fade

But genius is Omnipotent

To hallow

ii. 7 Of sweet, Harvard MS. || Of the sweet, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Lines written for the Poem to William Shelley. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1818.

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY

THY little footsteps on the sands

Of a remote and lonely shore;
The twinkling of thine infant hands

Where now the worm will feed no more;
Thy mingled look of love and glee
When we returned to gaze on thee

TO CONSTANTIA

I

THE rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue
In the gaze of the nightly moon;

For the planet of frost, so cold and bright,
Makes it wan with her borrowed light.

II

Such is my heart

roses are fair,

And that at best a withered blossom;

But thy false care did idly wear

Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom ;

And fed with love, like air and dew,
Its growth

To William Shelley. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, dated 1819.

To Constantia. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, dated 1817.

TO EMILIA VIVIANI

I

MADONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette?

Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.

Alas, and they are wet!

Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?

For never rain or dew

Such fragrance drew

From plant or flower - the very doubt endears My sadness ever new,

The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.

II

Send the stars light, but send not love to me,
In whom love ever made

Health like a heap of embers soon to fade.

ΤΟ

age

O MIGHTY mind, in whose deep stream this
Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm,
Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?

To Emilia Viviani. Published i. by Mrs. Shelley, 1824; ii. 1 by Garnett, 1862; ii. 2, 3 by Forman, 1876; dated 1821.

To

- Fragment of an Address to Byron, Forman. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1818.

SONNET TO BYRON

[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but]

IF I esteemed you less, Envy would kill
Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and Despair
The ministration of the thoughts that fill
The mind which, like a worm whose life may share
A portion of the unapproachable,

Marks your creations rise as fast and fair
As perfect worlds at the Creator's will.

But such is my regard that nor your power
To soar above the heights where others [climb],
Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour
Cast from the envious future on the time,
Move one regret for his unhonored name
Who dares these words:

sod

the worm beneath the

May lift itself in homage of the God.

Sonnet to Byron. Published, in part, by Medwin, 1832, 1847, and recomposed by aid of Boscombe MS. by Rossetti, 1870, dated 1821.

1 you, Rossetti || him, Medwin, 1832; thee, Medwin, 1847.

2, 3 Medwin 1832, 1847.

4 Rossetti || My soul which as a worm may haply share, Medwin 1832; My soul which even as a worm may share, Medwin, 1847. 5 Medwin, 1832, 1847.

6 your, Rossetti || his, Medwin, 1832; thy, Medwin, 1847. 7 Medwin, 1832, 1847.

8-11 Rossetti ||

But not the blessings of thy happier lot,
Nor thy well-won prosperity, and fame.

Medwin, 1847.

12-14 Medwin, 1847.