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MARIANNE'S DREAM
535
After the touch, whose power had braided126
Such grace, was in some sad change faded.
Such grace, was in some sad change faded.
XXI
She looked, the flames were dim, the flood
Grew tranquil as a woodland river
Winding through hills in solitude;
Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver,131
And their fair limbs to float in motion,
Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.
She looked, the flames were dim, the flood
Grew tranquil as a woodland river
Winding through hills in solitude;
Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver,131
And their fair limbs to float in motion,
Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.
XXII
And their lips moved; one seemed to speak,
When suddenly the mountains[1] cracked,135
And through the chasm the flood did break
With an earth-uplifting cataract:
The statues gave a joyous scream,
And on its wings the pale thin Dream
Lifted the Lady from the stream.140
And their lips moved; one seemed to speak,
When suddenly the mountains[1] cracked,135
And through the chasm the flood did break
With an earth-uplifting cataract:
The statues gave a joyous scream,
And on its wings the pale thin Dream
Lifted the Lady from the stream.140
XXIII
The dizzy flight of that phantom pale
Waked the fair Lady from her sleep,
And she arose, while from the veil
Of her dark eyes the Dream did creep.
And she walked about as one who knew145
That sleep has sights as clear and true
As any waking eyes can view.
The dizzy flight of that phantom pale
Waked the fair Lady from her sleep,
And she arose, while from the veil
Of her dark eyes the Dream did creep.
And she walked about as one who knew145
That sleep has sights as clear and true
As any waking eyes can view.
TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING
[Published by Mrs. Shelley in Posthumous Poems, 1824. Amongst the Shelley MSS. at the Bodleian is a chaotic first draft, from which Mr. Locock [Examination, &c., 1903, pp. 60-62] has, with patient ingenuity, disengaged a first and a second stanza consistent with the metrical scheme of stanzas iii and iv. The two stanzas thus recovered are printed here immediately below the poem as edited by Mrs. Shelley. It need hardly be added that Mr. Locock's restored version cannot, any more than Mrs. Shelley's obviously imperfect one, be regarded in the light of a final recension.]
I
Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die,
Perchance were death indeed!—Constantia, turn!
In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie,
Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep;5
Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet,
And from thy touch like fire doth leap.
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet.
Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!
Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die,
Perchance were death indeed!—Constantia, turn!
In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie,
Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep;5
Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet,
And from thy touch like fire doth leap.
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet.
Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!
II
A breathless awe, like the swift change10
Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers,
Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange,
Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.
The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven
By the enchantment of thy strain,15
And on my shoulders wings are woven,
A breathless awe, like the swift change10
Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers,
Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange,
Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.
The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven
By the enchantment of thy strain,15
And on my shoulders wings are woven,
- ↑ mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839.
