Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/112

108 The dew-mists of my sunless sleep shall float Under the stars like balm: night-folded flowers Shall suck unwitting hues in their repose: And men and beasts in happy dreams shall gather Strength for the coming day, and all its joy: And death shall be the last embrace of her Who takes the life she gave, even as a mother Folding her child, says, "Leave me not again."

Oh, mother! wherefore speak the name of death? Cease they to love, and move, and breathe, and speak, Who die?

It would avail not to reply: Thou art immortal and this tongue is known But to the uncommunicating dead. Death is the veil which those who live call life: They sleep, and it is lifted: and meanwhile In mild variety the seasons mild With rainbow-skirted showers, and odorous winds, And long blue meteors cleansing the dull night, And the life-kindling shafts of the keen sun's All-piercing bow, and the dew-mingled rain Of the calm moonbeams, a soft influence mild, Shall clothe the forests and the fields, aye, even