Radiant sister of the Day, In the deep east, dun and blind, And the multitudinous Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In the universal sun. TO JANE THE RECOLLECTION. I. Now the last day of many days, The loveliest and the last, is dead, For now the Earth has changed its face, II. We wandered to the Pine Forest That skirts the Ocean's foam, And on the bosom of the deep, The smile of Heaven lay; It seemed as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies, Which scattered from above the sun III. We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced, And soothed by every azure breath, That under heaven is blown, To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own; Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean woods may be. IV. How calm it was!-the silence there Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. There seemed from the remotest seat Of the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced, A spirit interfused around, A thrilling silent life, To momentary peace it bound And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there, Was one fair form that filled with love V. We paused beside the pools that lie A firmament of purple light, Which in the dark earth lay, In which the lovely forests grew As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hue Than any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, And through the dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world above Were imaged by the water's love And all was interfused beneath With an elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, A softer day below. Like one beloved the scene had lent To the dark water's breast, Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest; Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. Though thou art ever fair and kind, The forest ever green, Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind, |