Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/72

68 Is wild and quick, yet 'tis a thing of air, For thro' its grey robe gleams the golden dew Whose stars the noon has quench'd not.

It is mine other dream.

It disappears.

It passes now into my mind. Methought As we sate here, the flower-infolding buds Burst on yon lightning-blasted almond-tree; When swift from the white Scythian wilderness A wind swept forth wrinkling the Earth with frost: I looked, and all the blossoms were blown down; But on each leaf was stamped, as the blue bells Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief,

As you speak, your words Fill, pause by pause, my own forgotten sleep With shapes. Methought among the lawns together We wandered, underneath the young grey dawn, And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains,