PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

610. Ode to the West Wind

�� ��WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fidl

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odours plain and hill ;

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver ; hear, O hear !

��Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,

Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the 'tangled boughs of heaven and ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning ! there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

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