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II

And starlight wood, with fearful steps

OZYMANDIAS pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed | I met a traveller from an antique land dead.

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of I called on poisonous names with which stone our youth is fed;

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the I was not heard-I saw them not

sand, When musing deeply on the lot 55 Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose Of life, at the sweet time when winds are frown, wooing

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold comAll vital things that wake to bring

mand,

5 News of birds and blossoming, - Tell that its sculptor well those passions Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;

read I shrieked, and clasped my hands in which yet survive, (stamped on these ecstasy!

бо lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart I vowed that I would dedicate my powers

that fed: To thee and thine—have I not kept the And on the pedestal these words appear: vow?

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: With beating heart and streaming Look on my works, ye Mighty, and deeyes, even now

spair!”. I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Nothing beside remains. Round the de Each from his voiceless grave; they have cay in visioned bowers

65 Of that colossal wreck, boundless and Of studious zeal or love's delight

bare Outwatched with me the envious The lone and level sands stretch far away.

nightThey know that never joy illumed my brow

ODE TO THE WEST WIND Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst

I free This world from its dark slavery; 70 o wild West Wind, thou breath of That thou- awful LOVELINESS,

Autumn's being, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot Thou, from whose unseen presence the express.

leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter The day becomes more solemn and serene fleeing, When noon is past-there is a harmony

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

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red, Which through the summer is not heard or Pestilence-stricken multitudes: 0 thou, 5 seen,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and Thus let thy power, which like the low, truth

Each like a corpse within its grave, until Of nature on my passive youth Thine azure sister of the spring shall Descended, to my onward life supply 80 blow

Its calm-to one who worships thee,
And every form containing thee, Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and
Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in To fear himself, and love all human air) kind.

With living hues and odors plain and hill:

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bind

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: II

oh hear! Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep

IV sky's commotion,

15 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; are shed,

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven share

45 and Ocean,

The impulse of thy strength, only less Angels of rain and lightning: there are free spread

Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 19 I were as in my boyhood, and could be Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

The comrade of thy wanderings over Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim heaven, verge

As then, when to outstrip thy skyey Of the horizon to the zenith's height

speed

50 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er dirge

have striven

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Of the dying year, to which this closing As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. night

Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! Vaulted with all thy congregated might

A heavy weight of hours has chained and Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere

bowed

55 Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: One too like thee: tameless, and swift, oh hear!

and proud. III

V Thou who didst waken from his summer Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: dreams

What if my leaves are falling like its own! The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams

Will take from both a deep, autumnal Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay,

tone,

60 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit Quivering within the wave's intenser fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

day,

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THE INDIAN SERENADE Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits; I arise from dreams of thee

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder In the first sweet sleep of night,

It struggles and howls at fits; 20 When the winds are breathing low, Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, And the stars are shining bright:

This pilot is guiding me, I arise from dreams of thee,

5 Lured by the love of the genii that move And a spirit in my feet

In the depths of the purple sea; Hath led me who knows how?

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills; To thy chamber window, Sweet!

Over the lakes and the plains, 26

Wherever he dream, under mountain or The wandering airs they faint

stream, On the dark, the silent stream

The Spirit he loves remains; The Champak odors fail

And I all the while bask in heaven's Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

blue smile, The nightingale's complaint,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 It dies upon her heart; As I must on thine,

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Oh! beloved as thou art!

And his burning plumes outspread,

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, Oh lift me from the grass!

When the morning star shines dead, I die! I faint! I fail!

As on the jag of a mountain crag, 35 Let thy love in kisses rain

Which an earthquake rocks and On my lips and eyelids pale.

swings, My cheek is cold and white, alas! An eagle alit one moment may sit My heart beats loud and fast;

In the light of its golden wings. Oh! press it to thine own again, And when sunset may breathe, from the Where it will break at last.

lit sea beneath,

It ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above, THE CLOUD

With wings folded I rest, on mine airy

nest, I bring fresh showers for the thirsting As still as a brooding dove.

flowers,

From the seas and the streams; That orbed maiden with white fire laden, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid Whom mortals call the moon, 46 In their noon-day dreams.

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like From my wings are shaken the dews that

floor, waken

5

By the midnight breezes strewn; The sweet buds every one,

And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, When rocked to rest on their mother's

Which only the angels hear, 50 breast,

May have broken the woof of my tent's As she dances about the sun.

thin roof, I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

The stars peep behind her and peer; And whiten the green plains under, And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, And then again I dissolve it in rain,

Like a swarm of golden bees, And laugh as I pass in thunder. When I widen the rent in my wind-built

tent,

55 I sift the snow on the mountains below,

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, And their great pines groan aghast; Like strips of the sky fallen through me on And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 15

high, While I sleep in the arms of the Are each paved with the moon and blast.

these.

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20

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,

In the golden lightning
And the moon's with a girdle of

Of the sunken sun,
pearl;

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O'er which clouds are bright'ning, The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel

Thou dost float and run; and swim,

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just When the whirlwinds my banner

begun.
unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like The pale purple even
shape,

Melts around thy flight;
Over a torrent sea,

Like a star of heaven
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, 65

In the broad day-light
The mountains its columns be. Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill
The triumphal arch through which I

delight,
march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

Keen as are the arrows
When the powers of the air are chained to

Of that silver sphere,
my chair,

Whose intense lamp narrows
Is the million-colored bow; 70

In the white dawn clear, 24 The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

While the moist earth was laughing
below.

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,
I am the daughter of earth and water,

As, when night is bare,
And the nursling of the sky;

From one lonely cloud I pass through the pores of the ocean and The moon rains out her beams, and heaven shores;

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is overflowed.

30 I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a

What thou art we know not;
stain

What is most like thee?
The pavilion of heaven is bare,

From rainbow clouds there flow not And the winds and sunbeams with their

Drops so bright to see convex gleams

As from thy presence showers a rain of Build up the blue dome of air, 80

melody.

35 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a poet hidden Like a child from the womb, like a ghost

In the light of thought,
from the tomb,

Singing hymns unbidden,
I arise and unbuild it again.

Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it
heeded not:

40 TO A SKYLARK

Like a high-born maiden
Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

In a palace tower,
Bird thou never wert,

Soothing her love-laden
That from heaven, or near it,

Soul in secret hour
Pourest thy full heart

With music sweet as love, which overIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 5

flows her bower:

45 Higher still and higher

Like a glow-worm golden
From the earth thou springest

In a dell of dew,
Like a cloud of fire;

Scattering unbeholden
The blue deep thou wįngest, .

Its aërial hue And singing still dost soar, and soaring Among the flowers and grass which screen ever singest.

it from the view:

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doth surpass.

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Like a rose embowered

Yet if we could scorn
In its own green leaves,

Hate, and pride, and fear;
By warm winds deflowered,

If we were things born
Till the scent it gives

Not to shed a tear, Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever should heavy-winged thieves.

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come near.

95 Sound of vernal showers

Better than all measures
On the twinkling grass,

Of delightful sound,
Rain-awakened flowers,

Better than all treasures
All that ever was

That in books are found, Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the

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ground!
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine;

Teach me half the gladness
I have never heard

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so

From my lips would flow,
divine:

The world should listen then, as I am lis65 tening now.

105 Chorus Hymenæal,

Or triumphal chant,
Matched with thine would be all

TO
But an empty vaunt,
A thing wherein we feel there is some hid-

Music, when soft voices die,
den want.

70 Vibrates in the memory

Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
What objects are the fountains

Live within the sense they quicken.
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or moun-
Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead,

S tains?

Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
What shapes of sky or plain?

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on. What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

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With thy clear keen joyance

STANZAS
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance

WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR
Never came near thee:

NAPLES Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

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The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
Waking or asleep,

The waves

are dancing fast and Thou of death must deem

bright, Things more true and deep

Blue isles and snowy mountains wear Than we mortals dream,

The purple noon's transparent might; Or how could thy notes flow in such a

The breath of the moist earth is light, 5 crystal stream?

Around its unexpanded buds;

Like many a voice of one delight, We look before and after,

The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
And pine for what is not:

The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;

I see the Deep's untrampled floor Our sweetest songs are those that tell of With green and purple seaweeds saddest thought.

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strown;

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