And the most patient brilliance of the Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne. Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush All the immortal fairness of his limbs; Die into life: so young Apollo anguished; -:0: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822. THE SENSITIVE PLANT. A SENSITIVE PLANT in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of night. And on the stream whose inconstant bosom Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, With a motion of sweet sound and radiance. And the sinuous paths of lawn and moss, Which led through the garden along and across, Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees, [bells Were all paved with daisies and delicate As fair as the fabulous asphodels, [ed too And flow'rets which drooping as day droopFell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue, To roof the glowworm from the evening dew. And from this undefiled Paradise The flowers (as an infant's awakening eyes Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet Can first lull, and at last must awaken it), When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them, As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun; For each one was interpenetrated With the light and the odour its neighbour shed, [make dear Like young lovers whom youth and love Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere. [small fruit But the Sensitive Plant, which could give Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, [ever, Received more than all, it loved more than Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver, [flower; The beams which dart from many a star The plumed insects swift and free, The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie The quivering vapours of dim noontide, Which like a sea o'er the warm earth glide, In which every sound, and odour, and beam, Move, as reeds in a single stream; Each and all like ministering angels were For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear, Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. And when evening descended from Heaven above, [all love, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep, And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned In an ocean of dreams without a sound; Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress [ness; The light sand which paves it, conscious (Only overhead the sweet nightingale Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, And snatches of its Elysian chant Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant.) The Sensitive Plant was the earliest Up-gathered into the bosom of rest; A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest and yet the favourite, Cradled within the embrace of night. There was a Power in this sweet place, as as God is to the starry scheme. ady, the wonder of her kind, ose form was upborne by a lovely mind The weary sound and the heavy breath, And the silent motions of passing death, And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, Sent through the pores of the coffin plank; The dark grass, and the flowers among the grass, [pass; Were bright with tears as the crowd did From their sighs the wind caught a mournful tone, [groan. And sate in the pines, and gave groan for The garden, once fair, became cold and foul, [soul, Like the corpse of her who had been its Which at first was lively as if in sleep, Then slowly changed, till it grew a heap To make men tremble who never weep. |