PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
In the golden light'ning
Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven,
In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear, Until we haidly see, we feel that it is there.
All the eaith and air
With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud The moon rams out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to sec, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody:
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
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