PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view
Like a rose embower'd
In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd,
Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves'
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers
All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh thy music doth surpass.
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard
Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Chorus hymeneal,
Or triumphal chant, Match'd with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
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