PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruin'd cell,

Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest;

The weak one is singled To endure what it once possest.

O Love, who bewailest The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee, As the storms rock the ravens on high:

Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

��To

��E word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained

For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother; And pity from thee more dear Than that from another.

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