Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ANGEL SINGS OF SHELLEY NEWLY DEAD, by THOMAS LAKE HARRIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN ANGEL SINGS OF SHELLEY NEWLY DEAD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Wreathe him with jonquils and anemones
Last Line: Shelley the spirit lives eternally.
Subject(s): Angels; Poetry & Poets; Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)


Wreathe him with jonquils and anemones,
With jasmines, myrtles, roses, where he lies;
Let all your kisses melt upon his mouth,
Balm-winds, fresh-breathing from the tropic South;
Myrrh, cassia, nutmeg trees of Ceylon, lave
Him in your odours; fan him as ye wave,
O golden palms; and thou, wild tamarind tree,
Droop thy long sprays, caress him balmily;
Ye crimson cactus-flowers, that nimble bees
Vainly explore, oppress not his mild eyes;
O sleep-diffusing poppies, rain not down
Your heavy juice; nor, sable cypress, frown
On him reposing; silver lime-flowers, pour
Faint, star-like incense-drops from your full store;
Sweet violets, pillow him; thy pipe, O Pan,
Blow with a mellow strain, thy syrinx blow:
Our darling is delivered from his woe,
Freed from the hate of love-regardless man.

Our darling is not dead, he lieth here,
Where the blind groping earth-worm finds him not.
As water-lilies mourn the fading year,
Fond hearts deplore him on the earth. No spot
Defiles the crystal pureness of his fame.
The efflorescence of his being blooms
On earth, blooms splendidly. Like May he came,
Sowing rich beauty over dens and tombs
And rocky peaks and solitudes. He sped
Like a clear streamlet over its jagged bed,
That by no torture can be hushed asleep,
But pours in music hastening to the deep.
Peace, peace, bewail him not with garlands sere,
Ye Autumn Months; his is no funeral bier.
No pale dissolving Eidolon is he
Of that which was but never more shall be:
Shelley the Spirit lives eternally.





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