Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/753

 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden

Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view

Like a rose embower'd

In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd,

Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves'

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers

All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard

Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus hymeneal,

Or triumphal chant, Match'd with thine would be all

But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

�� �