bearest,

I.

AIREST of the Destinies,
Disarray thy dazzling eyes :

Keener far thy lightnings are
Than the winged [bolts] thou

And the smile thou wearest

Wraps thee as a star

Is wrapt in light.

II.

Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn

From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run,

Or could the morning shafts of purest light Again into the quivers of the Sun

Be gathered could one thought from its

wild flight

Return into the temple of the brain

Without a change, without a stain, -
Could aught that is, ever again
Be what it once has ceased to be,
Greece might again be free!

III.

A star has fallen upon the earth
'Mid the benighted nations,

A quenchless atom of immortal light,
A living spark of Night,

A cresset shaken from the constellations.
Swifter than the thunder fell
To the heart of Earth, the well
Where its pulses flow and beat,

And unextinct in that cold source

Guides the sphere which is its prison,

Like an angelic spirit pent

In a form of mortal birth,

Till, as a spirit half arisen

Shatters its charnel, it has rent,
In the rapture of its mirth,

The thin and painted garment of the Earth,
Ruining its chaos -a fierce breath

Consuming all its forms of living death.

Fragment: "I Would Not Be a King"

WOULD not be a king- enough

Of woe it is to love;

The path to power is steep and

rough,

And tempests reign above.

I would not climb the imperial throne; 'Tis built on ice which fortune's sun

Thaws in the height of noon, Then farewell, king, yet were I one

Care would not come so soon. Would he and I were far away

Keeping flocks on Himalay!

IKE the ghost of a dear friend dead

Is Time long past.

A tone which is now for ever fled,

A hope which is now for ever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.

II.

There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:

And, was it sadness or delight,

Each day a shadow onward cast

Which made us wish it yet might last

That Time long past.

III.

There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.

'Tis like a child's beloved corse

A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.

Fragment on Keats

Who Desired That on His Tomb
Should Be Inscribed -

ERE lieth One whose name was

H

writ on water."

But, ere the breath that could

erase it blew,

Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,

Death, the immortalizing winter, flew
Athwart the stream,—and time's printless

torrent grew

A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name of

Adonais.