|
|
Front Page Titles (by Subject) THE TWO SPIRITS. AN ALLEGORY. - Posthumous Poems
THE TWO SPIRITS. AN ALLEGORY. - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Posthumous Poems [1824]Edition used:Posthumous Poems (London: John and Henry L. Hunt, 1824).
About Liberty Fund:Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals. Copyright information:The text is in the public domain.
Fair use statement:
This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.
THE TWO SPIRITS.
AN ALLEGORY.
first spirit.- Oh thou, who plumed with strong desire
- Would float above the earth, beware!
- A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire—
- Night is coming!
- Bright are the regions of the air,
- And among the winds and beams
- It were delight to wander there—
- Night is coming!
second spirit.- The deathless stars are bright above;
- If I would cross the shade of night,
- Within my heart is the lamp of love,
- And that is day!
- And the moon will smile with gentle light
- On my golden plumes where’er they move;
- The meteors will linger round my flight
- And make night day.
first spirit.- But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken
- Hail and lightning and stormy rain;
- See the bounds of the air are shaken—
- Night is coming!
- The red swift clouds of the hurricane
- Yon declining sun have overtaken,
- The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain—
- Night is coming!
second spirit.
-
- I see the light, and I hear the sound;
- I’ll sail on the flood of the tempest dark
- With the calm within and the light around
- Which makes night day:
- And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark,
- Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound,
- My moon-like flight thou then may’st mark
- On high, far away.
-
- Some say, there is a precipice
- Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin
- O’er piles of snow and chasms of ice
- Mid Alpine mountains;
- And that the languid storm pursuing
- That winged shape for ever flies
- Round those hoar branches, aye renewing
- Its aery fountains.
-
- Some say, when nights are dry and clear,
- And the death dews sleep on the morass,
- Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller
- Which makes night day:
- And a silver shape like his early love doth pass
- Upborne by her wild and glittering hair,
- And when he awakes on the fragrant grass,
- He finds night day.
|