Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs-- To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find _25 An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. I leave this notice on my door For each accustomed visitor:-- _30 'I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields;-- Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.-- You with the unpaid bill, Despair,-- You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,-- _35 I will pay you in the grave,-- Death will listen to your stave. Expectation too, be off! To-day is for itself enough; _40 Hope, in pity mock not Woe With smiles, nor follow where I go; Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment's good After long pain--with all your love, _45 This you never told me of.' Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake! arise! and come away! To the wild woods and the plains, And the pools where winter rains _50. Image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green and ivy dun Round stems that never kiss the sun; Where the lawns and pastures be, _55 And the sandhills of the sea;-- Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers, and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue, _60 Crown the pale year weak and new; When the night is left behind In the deep east, dun and blind, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous _65 Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In the universal sun. NOTES: _34 with Trelawny manuscript; of 1839, 2nd edition. _44 moment's Trelawny manuscript; moment 1839, 2nd edition. _50 And Trelawny manuscript; To 1839, 2nd edition. _53 dun Trelawny manuscript; dim 1839, 2nd edition. *** TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. See the Editor's prefatory note to the preceding.] 1. Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise! Up,--to thy wonted work! come, trace _5 The epitaph of glory fled,-- For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow.