Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/752

 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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