Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink, When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink. XLVIII. Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh not of him, but of our joy. 'Tis nought Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; XLIX. Go thou to Rome, -at once the paradise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness; And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead L. And grey walls moulder round, on which dull Time And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, LI. Here pause. These graves are all too young as yet Here on one fountain of a mourning mind, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is why fear we to become? LII. The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.-Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled !-Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. LIII. Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart? The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! Oh hasten thither! No more let life divide what death can join together. LIV. That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. LV. The breath whose might I have invoked in song Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. TO NIGHT. (1821.) I. Swiftly walk over the western wave, Out of the misty eastern cave Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear, II. Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; Kiss her until she be wearied out. A LAMENT. O World! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, rembling at that where I had stood before,— When will return the glory of your prime? No more-oh never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh Spring, and Summer, and Winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief,—but with delight No more-oh never more! ΤΟ One word is too often profaned One feeling too falsely disdained For prudence to smother; And pity from thee more dear I can give not what men call love: The worship the heart lifts above, And the Heavens reject not: The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow? (1821.) (1821.) |