PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY I arise from dreams of thee, In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me--who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream,-- The champetre odours fail, Like sweet thoughts in a dream, The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine, O beloved as thou art! O lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail. Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast. Oh! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last. LAMENT O world! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more--oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more--oh, never more! LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle-- Why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea;-- What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? HYMN OF PAN From the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb, Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings. Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day, Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings.