Front Page Titles (by Subject) STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. - Posthumous Poems
STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Posthumous Poems 
Posthumous Poems (London: John and Henry L. Hunt, 1824).
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WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.
- The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
- The waves are dancing fast and bright,
- Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
- The purple noon’s transparent light
- Around its unexpanded buds;
- Like many a voice of one delight,
- The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
- The City’s voice itself is soft, like Solitude’s.
- I see the Deep’s untrampled floor
- With green and purple seaweeds strown;
- I see the waves upon the shore,
- Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
- I sit upon the sands alone,
- The lightning of the noon-tide ocean
- Is flashing round me, and a tone
- Arises from its measured motion,
- How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
- Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
- Nor peace within nor calm around,
- Nor that content surpassing wealth
- The sage in meditation found,
- And walked with inward glory crowned—
- Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
- Others I see whom these surround—
- Smiling they live and call life pleasure;—
- To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
- Yet now despair itself is mild,
- Even as the winds and waters are;
- I could lie down like a tired child,
- And weep away the life of care
- Which I have borne and yet must bear,
- Till death like sleep might steal on me,
- And I might feel in the warm air
- My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
- Breathe o’er my dying brain its last monotony.
- Some might lament that I were cold,
- As I, when this sweet day is gone,
- Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
- Insults with this untimely moan;
- They might lament—for I am one
- Whom men love not,—and yet regret,
- Unlike this day, which, when the sun
- Shall on its stainless glory set,
- Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.