This most familiar scene, my pain, These tombs, — alone remain. Misery, my sweetest friend, oh, weep no more! These tombs, -alone remain. - I MET a traveller from an antique land The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. 6 And on the pedestal these words appear My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away." Sonnet. - Ozymandias. Published by Hunt in The Examiner, January 11, 1818, with Rosalind and Helen, 1819. LINES TO A CRITIC I HONEY from silkworms who can gather, II Hate men who cant, and men who And men who rail like thee; An equal passion to repay They are not coy like me. III pray, Or seek some slave of power and gold, IV A passion like the one I prove Cannot divided be; I hate thy want of truth and love How should I then hate thee? Lines to a Critic. Published by Hunt in The Liberal, No. III. 1823. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 SONNET: TO THE NILE MONTH after month the gathered rains descend On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend; By Nile's aërial urn, with rapid spells Urging those waters to their mighty end. O'er Egypt's land of Memory floods are level, And they are thine, O Nile! - and well thou knowest That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil, And fruits and poisons, spring where'er thou flowest. Beware, O Man! for knowledge must to thee Like the great flood to Egypt ever be. Sonnet: To the Nile. Published in The St. James's Magazine, March, 1876. Composed February 4. 5 fields of moist snow half, Hunt MS. || loosened snows no more, Hunt MS. cancelled. PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES LISTEN, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Heard in its raging ebb and flow By the captives pent in the cave below. On the dim starlight then is spread, And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm. THE PAST WILT thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love's sweet bowers, Heaping over their corpses cold Blossoms and leaves instead of mould? Blossoms which were the joys that fell, And leaves, the hopes that yet remain. Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yet There are ghosts that may take revenge for it; Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom, That joy, once lost, is pain. Passage of the Apennines. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed May 4. The Past. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. ON A FADED VIOLET I THE odor from the flower is gone, Which like thy kisses breathed on me ; II A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, I III weep my tears revive it not; I sigh- it breathes no more on me; Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be. On a Faded Violet, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Song, On a Faded Violet, The Literary Pocket-Book, 1821, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. On a Dead Violet. To Shelley, Stacey MS. On a Dead Violet, Rossetti. Published by Hunt, in The Literary Pocket-Book, 1821. The text follows Hunt's version, which is also that of Mrs. Shelley, 1824. i. 1 odor || color, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 2 kisses breathed || sweet eyes smiled, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 3 color odor, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 4 glowed breathed, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. ii. 1 shrivelled || withered, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 4 cold and silent | its cold, silent, Stacey MS. |