Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/152

148 And the weak day weeps That it should be so. Oh, gentle Moon, the voice of thy delight Falls on me like thy clear and tender light Soothing the seaman, borne the summer night Through isles forever calm; Oh, gentle Moon, thy crystal accents pierce The caverns of my pride's deep universe, Charming the tiger joy, whose tramplings fierce Made wounds which need thy balm.

I rise as from a bath of sparkling water, A bath of azure light, among dark rocks, Out of the stream of sound.

Ah me! sweet sister, The stream of sound has ebbed away from us, And you pretend to rise out of its wave, Because your words fall like the clear, soft dew Shaken from a bathing wood-nymph's limbs and hair.

Peace! peace! A mighty Power, which is as darkness, Is rising out of Earth, and from the sky