PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable ! if even I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed Scarce seem'd a vision I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. O ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed !

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bow'd One too like thee tameless, and swift, and proud.

��Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

What if my leaves are falling like its own ? The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one !

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,

Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind !

Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?

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