For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves even like Love,--its deep heart is full; It desires what it has not, the beautiful." Even more characteristically, even more personally, does Shelley's inmost feeling, his heart's heart, such as it became after hard fate had set its stamp upon it, express itself in the beautiful elegy on Keats, which was written in a frame of burning indignation produced by the base and rancorous attack in the _Quarterly Review. He is describing how all the poets of the day come to weep over their brother's bier:-- "'Midst others of less note came one frail form, A phantom among men, companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell. He, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness Actæon-like; and now he tied astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts along that rugged way Pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey. A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift-- A love in desolation masked--a power Girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour. It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow;--even whilst we speak Is it not broken? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood even while the heart may break. His head was bound with pansies overblown, And faded violets, white and pied and blue; And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it. Of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart. All stood aloof, and at his partial moan Smiled through their tears. Well knew that gentle band Who in another's fate now wept his own. As in the accents of an unknown land He sang new sorrow, sad Urania scanned The Stranger's mien, and murmured, 'Who art thou?' He answered not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's--Oh I that it should be so."