Percy Bysshe Shelley
Last Lines
Alas, then, for the homeless beggar old!
All that frail stuff which will be -- or which was.
And "my countrymen! vengeance!" incessantly cry.
And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.
And form all others, life and love.
And his fleeting soul fled with a harrowing groan.
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
And pity if thou canst not love.
Art kind when I am sick, and pity me. ...
Be those hopes and fears on thee.
Beats and trembles in the heart?
Canst thou cease to be loved by a heart so sincere.
Charged with the load that makes thee faint and mourn?
Clothing his wings with lightning.
Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey . . .
Darkening Life's labyrinthine way.
Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.
Follow with May's fairest flowers.
For a moment so found, so lost!
For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.
From Heaven, which none shall quench, to cheer the innocent?
From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.
From the sphere of our sorrow?
Had cankered then -- but crushed it not.
Health like a heap of embers soon to fade --
Hope shows a balm for all my woes.
Hope to inherit in the grave below?
How soft and how sweet was the strain. --
I wildly then called on the tempest to bear me!
In the van of the morning light.
In which its vermeil splendours shine.
Love itself would, did they not.
Make once more my heart thy home.
Nought may endure but Mutability.
Of the fairies bear those bowls so new!
Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness.
See neglect, and falsehood fold. . . .
She remains, -- it fades away.
Should be absorbed, till they to marble grew.
Speeds through dark forests o'er the waters swinging ...
That shadows follow them where'er they go.
The health of life's own life --
The image of thy mother's loveliness.
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
The remembrance must live of a friend so sincere.
The rewards of the brave are the transports of love.
Through the grass with silent gliding.
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.
Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.
To hide the love thou feel'st for me.
To tremble, gleam, and disappear.
Unchangingly preserved and buried there.
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
We bid ungrateful world adieu.
What I dare not in broad daylight.
Which mock the lips with air, when they are thirsting.
Which the keen evening star is shining through.
While they remain, and ye, alas, depart!
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