Poetry redeems from decay the visitations of the divinity in man.
--A Defence of Poetry, Percy Bysshe Shelley
--A Defence of Poetry, Percy Bysshe Shelley
Maiden I I forgot to bless the day; its golden dust, The trembling breath among the rust. I forgot to bless the night; its silver shine, The tinkling beads of falling wine. II Magic in mist hung head low, Muffling dead voices, who spoke of those who were to go. An omega for the start of the year No-one—better than they—could be such a seer. III A shattered square of light shows above the bed: An angel aura partial viewed. In the stead of dreamers’ head; To pollened sights the eyes are glued. Mother IV Jet ink, set between thin towers of red Deliver in black the life of its widow: Laden with words that few—or none—have said Since so many long decades ago. V The eighty-year-long bell had tolled its last, Hung moon-like, gazing as ripples run past. Sitting on the edge of a water glassed, I watched the world’s black veil unfurled. VI Stuck half on, a legless damsel looks down through her wreath of hair; Her square stands (a morgue of wooden limbs is there) As the mercurial drop betokens a letter sent-- A simple symbol signing affection shifted through the air. Crone VII A field’s cushion of yellow and green, screen The world away, as he says to me, “See, I laid many a dream beneath this scene, That took on shapes strange, splendid, wild and free. VIII Let me lie delicately still upon this floor, As I recall strange sounds trembling through the veil. Let the voice of every quarter hour bid their law, Who set out on the trackless path once more. IX Ten thousand fires grow great as ages, Incense dances forth from mouth of sages, As blind gold buddhas whisper every word, All the maxims, mantras they ever heard. | |