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Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still
Awake him not ! surely he takes his fill
He will awake no more, oh, never more !
So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law
O, weep for Adonais ! — The quick Dreams,
their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.
And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries : “Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; “See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, “ Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies “A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain.” Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise !
She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
One from a lucid urn of starry dew
A greater loss with one which was more weak;
Another Splendour on his mouth alit,
With lightning and with music : the damp death
Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,
XIII. And others came ... Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies ; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp ; — the moving pomp might
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.
XIV. All he had loved, and moulded into thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watchtower, and her hair unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moaned,
Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.
Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
Into a shadow of all sounds :
Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw
down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown For whom should she have waked the sullen year? To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou Adonais : wan they stand and sere
Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.
Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale
Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale
Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest !
Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone,
And the green lizard, and the golden snake,
Through wood and stream and field and hill and
Ocean A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world when first God dawned on Chaos; in its steam immersed