Page:Shelley The Daemon of the World.djvu/30

 Yet not the lightest leaf That quivers to the passing breeze Is less instinct with thee,— Yet not the meanest worm, That lurks in graves and fattens on the dead Less shares thy eternal breath. Spirit of Nature! thou Imperishable as this glorious scene, Here is thy fitting temple.

If solitude hath ever led thy steps To the shore of the immeasurable sea, And thou hast lingered there Until the sun's broad orb Seemed resting on the fiery line of ocean, Thou must have marked the braided webs of gold That without motion hang Over the sinking sphere: Thou must have marked the billowy mountain clouds, Edged with intolerable radiancy,