 | Threescore, and other poems |  |
31
TO SHELLEY.
Dear outcast, whose melodious moanStartled erewhile our English air,
Æolian heart tuning the groan
Of sick humanity, wan care
Flusht into life by spirit's breath
That won from sufferance and death
A tearful ravishment—love's wings
Bore thee, a weeping Ariel,
About the earth, to cool the stings
Of anguish with thy rhythmic spell.
Thou stoodst apart, the solitude
Of thy quick-panting breast o'erpeopled
With being's prime, the fire-eyed brood
Of Poesy, wherewith high-steepled,
32
Flamed with imagination's glow;
Fabrics supreme to crumble never,
The soul's warm homes of light forever.
| Threescore, and other poems | |