GOOD NIGHT. Good night? ah! no; the hour is it! Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night good, To hearts which rear each other move TO-MORROW. WHERE art thou, beloved, To-morrow? Whom young and old, and strong and weak, Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow, In thy place-ah! well-a-day! DEATH. THEY die-the dead return not-Misery They are the names of kindred, friend, and lover, Which he so feebly called-they all are gone! Fond wretch, all dead, those vacant names alone, This most familar scene, my pain These tombs alone remain. Misery, my sweetest friend-oh! weep no more! A LAMENT. O World! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime ? No more Oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter boar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more -Oh, never more! LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. THE fountains mingle with the river, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; See the mountains kiss high heaven, January, 1820. TO E*** V*** MADONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me 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 The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee, March, 1821. ΤΟ I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden, Ever to burthen thine. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, LINES. WHEN the lamp is shattered As music and splendour No song when the spirit is mute: No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.. TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. (With what truth I may say Roma! Roma! Roma! Non e piu come era prima!) My lost William, thou in whom Some bright spirit lived, and did That decaying robe consume Which its lustre faintly hid, |