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THE POET'S LOVER

I AM as a spirit who has dwelt

Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt

His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known

The inmost converse of his soul, the tone
Unheard but in the silence of his blood,
When all the pulses in their multitude
Image the trembling calm of summer seas.
I have unlocked the golden melodies
Of his deep soul, as with a master-key,
And loosened them and bathed myself therein —
Even as an eagle in a thunder-mist
Clothing his wings with lightning.

"I WOULD NOT BE A KING"

I 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!

The Poet's Lover || A Soul Known, Forman; Fellowship of

Souls, Dowden. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1819.

“I would not be a King." Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392, dated 1821.

"IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE"

Is 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?

TO-DAY

AND who feels discord now or sorrow?
Love is the universe to-day ;

These are the slaves of dim to-morrow,
Darkening Life's labyrinthine way.

LOVE'S ATMOSPHERE

THERE is a warm and gentle atmosphere
About the form of one we love, and thus
As in a tender mist our spirits are

Wrapped in the

of that which is to us

The health of life's own life.

"Is it that in some Brighter Sphere" || Questions, Forman; Reminiscence and Desire, Dowden. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1819.

To-day || Love the Universe, Forman. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, dated 1819.

Love's Atmosphere, Forman. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392, dated 1819.

TORPOR

My head is heavy, my limbs are weary,
And it is not life that makes me move.

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Should not know the way to go;
Let him crawl which yet lies sleeping
Through the deep grass of the meadow!
Not a bee shall hear him creeping,
Not a May-fly shall awaken,
From its cradling blue-bell shaken,
Not the starlight as he's sliding
Through the grass with silent gliding.

"IS NOT TO-DAY ENOUGH?"

Is not to-day enough? Why do I

peer

Into the darkness of the day to come?

Is not to-morrow even as yesterday?

And will the day that follows change thy doom?

Few flowers grow upon thy wintry way;

Torpor Weariness, Dowden. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1820.

"Wake the Serpent not " || The Serpent, Forman. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18392, dated 1819.

"Is not To-day enough?" || Forebodings, Dowden. Published by Garnett, 1862, dated 1819.

And who waits for thee in that cheerless

home

Whence thou hast fled, whither thou must re

turn

Charged with the load that makes thee faint and mourn?

"TO THIRST AND FIND NO FILL"

To thirst and find no fill — to wail and wander

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With short uneasy steps to pause and ponder
To feel the blood run through the veins and

tingle

Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle; To nurse the image of unfelt caresses

Till dim imagination just possesses

The half-created shadow.

LOVE

WEALTH and dominion fade into the mass

Of the great sea of human right and wrong, When once from our possession they must pass ; But love, though misdirected, is among The things which are immortal, and surpass. All that frail stuff which will be

was.

or which

"To thirst and find no Fill" || Unsatisfied Desires, Forman. Unsatisfied Desire, Dowden. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, dated 1817.

7 half-created self-created, Rossetti conj.

Love

Wealth and Love, Forman; Love Immortal, Dowden. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, dated 1817.

MUSIC

I

I PANT for the music which is divine,
My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;
Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine,
Loosen the notes in a silver shower;
Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain,
I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.

II

Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,
More, oh, more, I am thirsting yet;

-

It loosens the serpent which care has bound
Upon my heart to stifle it;

The dissolving strain through every vein
Passes into my heart and brain.

III

As the scent of a violet withered up,

Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, And mist there was none its thirst to slake And the violet lay dead while the odor flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue

IV

As one who drinks from a charmèd cup

Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine,

Music. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, dated 1821.

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