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But when we cease to breathe and move I do suppose love ceases too.
I thought, but not as now I do,
Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,
And still I love and still I think,
And if I think, my thoughts come fast,
Sometimes I see before me flee
A silver spirit's form, like thee,
O Leonora, and I sit
Still watching it,
Till by the grated casement's ledge
PALACE-ROOF of cloudless nights!
Paradise of golden lights!
Deep, immeasurable, vast,
Which art now, and which wert then!
Of acts and ages yet to come !
Glorious shapes have life in thee,
And icy moons most cold and bright,
Even thy name is as a god,
for thou art the abode
Of that power which is the glass
Worship thee with bended knees.
Thou remainest such alway.
Thou art but the mind's first chamber, Round which its young fancies clamber, Like weak insects in a cave,
Lighted up by stalactites;
But the portal of the grave, Where a world of new delights Will make thy best glories seem But a dim and noonday gleam From the shadow of a dream!
Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scorn At your presumption, atom-born!
What is heaven? and what are ye
Who its brief expanse inherit?
CIE TO THE WEST WIND.
Test Wind, then breath of Autumn's being,
Yellow, and Black, and pale, and hectic red,
The winged seeds, where they le cold and low,
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
Wild Spirit, which art moving every where ;
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baia's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers