PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born.
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss'd the forehead of the Earth ,
And smiled upon the silent sea;
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music ^all their fountains;
And breathed upon the frozen mountains;
And like a prophetess of May
Strew'd flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
��Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. I leave this notice on my door For each accustom'd visitor.
- I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields. Reflection, you may come to-morrow; Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.
�� �
