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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, 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!

60 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 deEach 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; 700 wild West Wind, thou breath of

That thou-0 awful LOVELINESS, 1 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, 75 red, Which through the summer is not heard or Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, s seen,

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

The wingèd 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

10 bind

(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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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:

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


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

have striven


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All overgrown with azure moss and Drive my dead thoughts over the universe flowers

Like withered leaves to quicken a new So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! birth! Thou

And, by the incantation of this verse, 65 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among manCleave themselves into chasms, while kind! far below

Be through my lips to unawakened earth The sea-blooms and the cozy woods which wear

The trumpet of a prophecy! ( wind, 69 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40 | If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?


I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!

Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,

It struggles and howls at fits; 20 Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move

In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills;

Over the lakes and the plains, 6 Wherever he dream, under mountain or


The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's

blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30

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The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead, As on the jag of a mountain crag, 3.5

Which an earthquake rocks and

swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the

lit sea beneath,

It ardors of rest and of love, 40 And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy

As still as a brooding dove.


I bring fresh showers for the thirsting


From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that


The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's


As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, II

And laugh as I pass in thunder.

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call the moon, 46 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like


By the midnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,

Which only the angels hear, 50 May have broken the woof of my tent's

thin roof,

The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,

55 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on

high, Are each paved with the moon and


I sift the snow on the mountains below,

And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 15

While I sleep in the arms of the



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,

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

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


20 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

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;


is overflowed.
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a What thou art we know not;

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. 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:

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:



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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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. 55

come near.
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 doth surpass.


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

Teach me half the gladness
I have never heard

That thy brain must know,
Praise of love or wine

Such harmonious madness That panted forth a flood of rapture so

From my lips would flow,

The world should listen then, as I am lisdivine:


tening now.
Chorus Hymenæal,

Or triumphal chant,
Matched with thine would be all

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

Music, when soft voices die,
den want.


| Vibrates in the memory-
What objects are the fountains

Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Of thy happy strain?

Live within the sense they quicken.
What fields, or waves, or moun-

Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, 5 tains?

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

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, What love of thine own kind? what ig

Love itself shall slumber on. norance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance

Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:

Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad

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 10 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of With green and purple seaweeds saddest thought.




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