HOU art fair, and few are fairer
Of the Nymphs of earth or

ocean;

They are robes that fit the wearer

Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion. Ever falls and shifts and glances

As the life within them dances.

II.

Thy deep eyes, a double Planet,

Gaze the wisest into madness

With soft clear fire, -the winds that fan it
Are those thoughts of tender gladness
Which, like Zephyrs on the billow,

Make thy gentle soul their pillow.

III.

If whatever face thou paintest

In those eyes grows pale with pleasure, If the fainting soul is faintest

When it hears thy harp's wild measure, Wonder not that when thou speakest Of the weak my heart is weakest.

IV.

As dew beneath the wind of morning,
As the sea which Whirlwinds waken,

As the birds at thunder's warning,
As aught mute yet deeply shaken,
As one who feels an unseen spirit
Is my heart when thine is near it.

To William Shelley

(With what truth I may say

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

I.

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

Fragment: Reminiscence and Desire

S it that in some brighter sphere
We part from friends we meet
with here?

Or do we see the Future pass
Over the Present's dusky glass?
Or what is that that makes us seem
To patch up fragments of a dream,
Part of which comes true, and part
Beats and trembles in the heart?

Fragment: "Follow to the Deep Wood's Weeds"

OLLOW to the deep wood's

weeds,

Follow to the wild briar

dingle,

Where we seek to intermingle,

And the violet tells her tale
To the odour-scented gale,
For they two have enough to do
Of such work as I and you.

Fragment: Rain and Wind

HE fitful alternations of the rain,

When the chill wind, languid as

and there

with pain

Of its own heavy moisture, here

Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.