I have never heard Praise of love or wine 65 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus Hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt, 70 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? 75 What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; 80 Thou lovest-but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream 85 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; 90 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, 95 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, That in books are found, 100 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, 105 The world should listen then-as I am listening now. HELPS TO STUDY Biographical and Historical: Percy Bysshe Shelley was born in 1792. He was an English poet who traveled much in Europe, and found Italy especially to his liking. His life was short and full of storm and stress, although he never allowed his personal sufferings to embitter his spirit. While only thirty, on a pleasure cruise off the coast of Italy, he was drowned. "To a Skylark" and "The Cloud' are rare poems because of their wonderful harmony of sound. The skylark is found in northern Europe. It is noted for its lofty flights and wonderful song. Note that Shelley, Wordsworth, and James Hogg have all written poems about the skylark. Notes and Questions What country is the home of these poets? What does this fact suggest to you? Explain the simile in the fifth In the seventh stanza what two and explain the stanza. In line 95 emphasize the fifth word and explain the stanza. In line 96 to end, what does Shelley say would be the result if a poet could feel such joy as the little bird seems to feel? If we had no dark days do you think we could appreciate the bright days? If we had no sadness could we appreciate the songs of gladness? If Shelley had never experienced sadness could he have written this beautiful poem of gladness? PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 5 From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 10 When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; I sift the snow on the mountains below, 15 And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 20 In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,- Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move 30 Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning-star shines dead, 35 As on the jag of a mountain-crag, 40 Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit, And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, 45 That orbèd Maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, 50 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 55 When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 60 Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 65 Sun-beam proof, I hang like a roof, 70 The triumphal arch through which I march When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water, 75 I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 80 For after the rain, when, with never a stain, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a sprite from the gloom, like a ghost from the tomb, |