PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
625 The Question
IDREAM'D that, as I wander'd by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring; And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kiss'd it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.
There grew pied wind-flowers and violets;
Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets,
Faint oxlips, tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved, and that tall flower that wets
Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green cowbind and the moonlight-colour'd May,
And cherry-blossoms, and white cups whose wine Was the bright dew yet dram'd not by the day;
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine,
With its dark buds and leaves wandering astray;
And flowers, azure, black, and streak'd with gold,
Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold.
And nearer to the river's trembling edge
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with white, And starry river-buds among the sedge,
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
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