Page:Shelley The Daemon of the World.djvu/52

 Yet spring's awakening breath will woo the earth, To feed with kindliest dews its favorite flower, That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens, Lighting the green wood with its sunny smile.

Fear not then, Spirit, death's disrobing hand. So welcome when the tyrrant is awake. So welcome when the bigot's hell-torch flares; 'Tis but the voyage of a darksome hour. The transient gulph-dream of a startling sleep. For what thou art shall perish utterly, But what is thine may never cease to be; Death is no foe to virtue: earth has seen Love's brightest roses on the scaffold bloom, Mingling with freedom's fadeless laurels there, And presaging the truth of visioned bliss. Are there not hopes within thee, which this scene Of linked and gradual being has confirmed? Hopes that not vainly thou, and living fires Of mind, as radiant and as pure as thou