Under the quick, faint kisses of the sea
Trembles and sparkles as with ecstasy,-
Possessing and possessed by all that is
Within that calm circumference of bliss,
And by each other, till to love and live
Be one-or, at the noontide hour, arrive
Where some old cavern hoar seems yet to keep
The moonlight of the expired night asleep,
Through which the awakened day can never peep;
A veil for our seclusion, close as night's,
Where secure sleep may kill thine innocent lights;
Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rain
Whose drops quench kisses till they burn again.
And we will talk, until thought's melody
Become too sweet for utterance, and it die
In words, to live again in looks, which dart
With thrilling tone into the voiceless heart,
Harmonizing silence without a sound.
Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound,
And our veins beat together; and our lips
With other eloquence than words, eclipse

550

555

560

565

The soul that burns between them, and the wells

Which boil under our being's inmost cells,

The fountains of our deepest life, shall be

570

Confused in Passion's golden purity,

As mountain-springs under the morning sun.

We shall become the same, we shall be one

Spirit within two frames, oh! wherefore two?

One passion in twin-hearts, which grows and grew,
Till like two meteors of expanding flame,

575

Those spheres instinct with it become the same,
Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still
Burning, yet ever inconsumable:

In one another's substance finding food,
Like flames too pure and light and unimbued
To nourish their bright lives with baser prey,
Which point to Heaven and cannot pass away:
One hope within two wills, one will beneath
Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death,
One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality,
And one annihilation. ́ Woe is me!

580

585

The winged words on which my soul would pierce

Into the height of Love's rare Universe,

Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-
I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!

590

Weak Verses, go, kneel at your Sovereign's feet,
And say: We are the masters of thy slave;
What wouldest thou with us and ours and thine?'
Then call your sisters from Oblivion's cave,
All singing loud: 'Love's very pain is sweet,

595

But its reward is in the world divine
Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.'
So shall ye live when I am there.
Over the hearts of men, until ye meet
Marina, Vanna, Primus, and the rest,

And bid them love each other and be blessed :

And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves,
And come and be my guest,-for I am Love's.

FRAGMENTS CONNECTED WITH

EPIPSYCHIDION

[Of the fragments of verse that follow, lines 1-37, 62-92 were printed by Mrs. Shelley in P. W., 1839, 2nd edition; lines 1-174 were printed or reprinted by Dr. Garnett in Relics of Shelley, 1862; and lines 175-186 were printed by Mr. C. D. Locock from the first draft of Epipsychidion amongst the Shelley MSS. in the Bodleian Library. See Examination, &c., 1903, pp. 12, 13. The three early drafts of the Preface (Advertisement) were printed by Mr. Locock in the same volume, pp. 4, 5.]

THREE EARLY DRAFTS OF THE PREFACE

(ADVERTISEMENT)
PREFACE I

[Epips]

PREFACE II

T. E. V. Epipsych
Lines addressed to
the Noble Lady
[Emilia] [E. V.]
Emilia

[The following Poem was found in the PF. of a young Englishman, who died on his passage from Leghorn to the Levant. He had bought one of the Sporades] He was accompanied by a lady [who might have been] supposed to be his wife, & an effeminate looking youth, to whom he shewed an [attachment] so [singular] excessive an attachment as to give rise to the suspicion, that she was

a woman-At his death this suspicion was confirmed; object speedily found a refuge both from the taunts of the brute multitude, and from the of her grief in the same grave that contained her lover. He had bought one of the Sporades, & fitted up a Saracenic castle which accident had preserved in some repair with simple elegance, & it was his intention to dedicate the remainder of his life to undisturbed intercourse with his companions

These verses apparently were intended as a dedication of a longer poem or series of poems

PREFACE III

The writer of these lines died at Florence in [January 1820] while he was preparing ** for one wildest of the of the Sporades, where he bought & fitted up the ruins of some old building-His life was singular, less on account of the romantic vicissitudes which diversified it, than the ideal tinge which they received from his own character & feelings

The verses were apparently intended by the writer to accompany some longer poem or collection of poems, of which there*

[are no remnants in his] * * * remains [in his] portfolio.

The editor is induced to

The present poem, like the vita Nova of Dante, is sufficiently intelligible to a certain class of readers without a matter of fact history of the circumstances to which it relate, & to a certain other class, it must & ought ever to remain incomprehensible-It was evidently intended to be prefixed to a longer poem or series of poems --but among his papers there are no traces of such a collection.

PASSAGES OF THE POEM, OR CONNECTED
THEREWITH

Here, my dear friend, is a new book for you;
I have already dedicated two

To other friends, one female and one male,-
What you are, is a thing that I must veil;
What can this be to those who praise or rail?
I never was attached to that great sect
Whose doctrine is that each one should select
Out of the world a mistress or a friend,

And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
To cold oblivion-though 'tis in the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road

Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread
Who travel to their home among the dead
By the broad highway of the world-and so
With one sad friend, and many a jealous foe,
The dreariest and the longest journey go.

Free love has this, different from gold and clay,
That to divide is not to take away.

Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks
Into ten thousand waves, and each one makes
A mirror of the moon-like some great glass,
Which did distort whatever form might pass,
Dashed into fragments by a playful child,
Which then reflects its eyes and forehead mild;
Giving for one, which it could ne'er express,
A thousand images of loveliness.

If I were one whom the loud world held wise,
I should disdain to quote authorities
In commendation of this kind of love :-
Why there is first the God in heaven above,
Who wrote a book called Nature, 'tis to be
Reviewed, I hear, in the next Quarterly;
And Socrates, the Jesus Christ of Greece,
And Jesus Christ Himself, did never cease
To urge all living things to love each other,
And to forgive their mutual faults, and smother
The Devil of disunion in their souls.

15

20

25

30

35

I love you!-Listen, O embodied Ray

Of the great Brightness; I must pass away

While you remain, and these light words must be
Tokens by which you may remember me.

40

Start not-the thing you are is unbetrayed,

If you are human, and if but the shade
Of some sublimer spirit.

Others with a

And as to friend or mistress, 'tis a form;
Perhaps I wish you were one. Some declare
You a familiar spirit, as you are;

Hint that, though not my wife, you are a woman;

more inhuman

What is the colour of your eyes and hair?

Why, if you were a lady, it were fair

The world should know-but, as I am afraid,
The Quarterly would bait you if betrayed;

And if, as it will be sport to see them stumble
Over all sorts of scandals, hear them mumble
Their litany of curses-some guess right,
And others swear you're a Hermaphrodite ;

45

50

55

Like that sweet marble monster of both sexes,
Which looks so sweet and gentle that it vexes
The very soul that the soul is gone

Which lifted from her limbs the veil of stone.

It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm,
A happy and auspicious bird of calm,
Which rides o'er life's ever tumultuous Ocean;
A God that broods o'er chaos in commotion;
A flower which fresh as Lapland roses are,
Lifts its bold head into the world's frore air,
And blooms most radiantly when others die,
Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity;
And with the light and odour of its bloom,
Shining within the dungeon and the tomb;
Whose coming is as light and music are

Which moves not 'mid the moving heavens alone

'Mid dissonance and gloom-a star

A smile among dark frowns-a gentle tone

Among rude voices, a beloved light,

60

65

70

75

A solitude, a refuge, a delight.

If I had but a friend! Why, I have three
Even by my own confession; there may be
Some more, for what I know, for 'tis my mind
To call my friends all who are wise and kind,-
And these, Heaven knows, at best are very few;
But none can ever be more dear than you.

Why should they be? My muse has lost her wings,
Or like a dying swan who soars and sings,

I should describe you in heroic style,

But as it is, are you not void of guile?

A lovely soul, formed to be blessed and bless :

A well of sealed and secret_happiness;

A lute which those whom Love has taught to play
Make music on to cheer the roughest day,
And enchant sadness till it sleeps?..

To the oblivion whither I and thou,
All loving and all lovely, hasten now

With steps, ah, too unequal! may we meet
In one Elysium or one winding-sheet!

If any should be curious to discover

Whether to you I am a friend or lover,

Let them read Shakespeare's sonnets, taking thence
A whetstone for their dull intelligence

That tears and will not cut, or let them guess
How Diotima, the wise prophetess,

Instructed the instructor, and why he

Rebuked the infant spirit of melody