652
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821
But such is my regard that nor your power
To soar above the heights where others [climb],[1]
Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour 10
Cast from the envious future on the time,[2]
Move one regret for his unhonoured name
Who dares these words:—the worm beneath the sod
May lift itself in homage of the God.[3]
To soar above the heights where others [climb],[1]
Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour 10
Cast from the envious future on the time,[2]
Move one regret for his unhonoured name
Who dares these words:—the worm beneath the sod
May lift itself in homage of the God.[3]
FRAGMENT[4] ON KEATS
WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED—
'Here lieth One whose name was writ on water.
But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,
Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,
Death, the immortalizing winter, flew
Athwart the stream,—and time's printless torrent grew 5
A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name
Of Adonais!
But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,
Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,
Death, the immortalizing winter, flew
Athwart the stream,—and time's printless torrent grew 5
A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name
Of Adonais!
FRAGMENT: 'METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD'
[Published by Rossetti, Complete P. W. of P. B. S., 1870.]
Methought I was a billow in the crowd
Of common men, that stream without a shore,
That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;
That I, a man, stood amid many more
By a wayside . . . ' which the aspect bore 5
Of some imperial metropolis.
Where mighty shapes—pyramid, dome, and tower—
Gleamed like a pile of crags—
Of common men, that stream without a shore,
That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;
That I, a man, stood amid many more
By a wayside . . . ' which the aspect bore 5
Of some imperial metropolis.
Where mighty shapes—pyramid, dome, and tower—
Gleamed like a pile of crags—
TO-MORROW
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824.]
Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?
When young and old, and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,
Thy sweet smiles we ever seek.—
In thy place—ah! well-a-day! 5
We find the thing we fled—To-day.
When young and old, and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,
Thy sweet smiles we ever seek.—
In thy place—ah! well-a-day! 5
We find the thing we fled—To-day.
STANZA
[Published by Rossetti, Complete P. W. of P. B. S., 1870. Connected by Dowden with the preceding.]
If I walk in Autumn's even
While the dead leaves pass,
While the dead leaves pass,