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'Tis like a child's beloved corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance cast

From time long past


YE hasten to the dead! What seek ye there,
Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes
Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?
O thou quick Heart which pantest to possess
All that anticipation feigneth fair !
Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess
Whence thou didst come, and whither thou mayst go,
And that which never yet was known wouldst know –
Oh, whither hasten ye that thus ye press
With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path,
Seeking alike from happiness and woe
A refuge in the cavern of grey death ?
O heart, and mind, and thoughts! What thing do you
Hope to inherit in the grave below?


ALAS ! good friend, what profit can you see
In hating such an hateless thing as me?
There is no sport in hate where all the rage
Is on one side. In vain would you assuage
Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,
In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile
Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.
Oh conquer what you cannot satiate !
For to your passion I am far more coy
Than ever yet was coldest maid or boy
In winter noon. Of your antipathy
If I am the Narcissus, you are free
To pine into a sound with hating me.



“ HERE lieth One whose name was writ on water."

But, ere the breath that could erase it blew, Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,

Death, the immortalizing winter, flew [grew

Athwart the stream, - and time's printless torrent A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name Of Adonais.



I WEEP for Adonais — he is dead !
O, weep for Adonais ! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head !
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: with me
Died Adonais ; till the Future dares

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity!


Where wert thou mighty Mother, when he lay,
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness? where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veilèd eyes,
'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath,
Rekindled all the fading melodies,

With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death.


O, weep for Adonais he is dead !
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend ; - oh, dream not that the amorous Deep

Will yet restore him to the vital air ;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our



Most musical of mourners, weep again !
Lament anew, Urania ! - He died,
Who was the Sire of an immortal strain,
Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride,
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide,
Trampled and mocked with many a loathèd rite
Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,

Into the gulf of death ; but his clear Sprite
Yet reigns o’er earth; the third among the sons of


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Most musical of mourners, weep anew !
Not all to that bright station dared to climb;

And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time
In which suns perished; others more sublime,
Struck by the envious wrath of man or God,
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;

And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene



But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished,
The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,
Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished,
And fed with true love tears, instead of dew;
Most musical of mourners, weep anew !
Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,
The bloom, whose petals nipt before they blew

Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;
The broken lily lies the storm is overpast.


To that high Capital, where kingly Death
Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,
He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,
A grave among the eternal.

Come away!
Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day

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