GINEVRA
647
Where the sea of sunlight encroaches 200
On the limits of wintry night:—
If the land, and the air, and the sea,
Rejoice not when spring approaches,
We did not rejoice in thee,
Ginevra! 205
On the limits of wintry night:—
If the land, and the air, and the sea,
Rejoice not when spring approaches,
We did not rejoice in thee,
Ginevra! 205
She is still, she is cold
On the bridal couch,
One step to the white deathbed,
And one to the bier,
And one to the charnel—and one, oh where? 210
The dark arrow fled
In the noon.
On the bridal couch,
One step to the white deathbed,
And one to the bier,
And one to the charnel—and one, oh where? 210
The dark arrow fled
In the noon.
Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled,
The rats in her heart
Will have made their nest, 215
And the worms be alive in her golden hair,
While the Spirit that guides the sun,
Sits throned in his flaming chair,
She shall sleep.
The rats in her heart
Will have made their nest, 215
And the worms be alive in her golden hair,
While the Spirit that guides the sun,
Sits throned in his flaming chair,
She shall sleep.
EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. There is a draft amongst the Boscombe MSS.]
I
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream, 5
Wakes not one ripple from its summer[1] dream.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream, 5
Wakes not one ripple from its summer[1] dream.
II
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze 10
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze 10
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.
III
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away; 15
Go to the . . .
You, being changed, will find it then as now.
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away; 15
Go to the . . .
You, being changed, will find it then as now.
- ↑ 6 summer 1839, 2nd ed. ; silent 1824, 1839, 1st ed.
