O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret 15 20 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 40 45 50 Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 55 60 65 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 70 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: do I wake or sleep? 80 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, Oft of one wide expanse had I been told He stared at the Pacific and all his men 5 ΙΟ 14 SHELLEY. LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS. MANY a green isle needs must be Day and night, and night and day, Death from the o'er-brimming deep; And sinks down, down, like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; Of a dark and distant shore Still recedes, as ever still Longing with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, 5 1Ο 15 20 He is ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet? 25 |