Thou in the grave shalt rest--yet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile. NOTE: _6 tear 1816; glance 1839. *** TO HARRIET. [Composed May, 1814. Published (from the Esdaile manuscript) by Dowden, "Life of Shelley", 1887.] Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life's too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone _5 These choicest blessings I have known. Harriet! if all who long to live In the warm sunshine of thine eye, That price beyond all pain must give,-- Beneath thy scorn to die; _10 Then hear thy chosen own too late His heart most worthy of thy hate. Be thou, then, one among mankind Whose heart is harder not for state, Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, _15 Amid a world of hate; And by a slight endurance seal A fellow-being's lasting weal. For pale with anguish is his cheek, His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, _20 Thy name is struggling ere he speak, Weak is each trembling limb; In mercy let him not endure The misery of a fatal cure. Oh, trust for once no erring guide! _25 Bid the remorseless feeling flee; 'Tis malice, 'tis revenge, 'tis pride, 'Tis anything but thee; Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love. _30 *** TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN. [Composed June, 1814. Published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824.] 1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm--thus wert not thou;-- My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks--I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine _5 With soothing pity upon mine. 2. To sit and curb the soul's mute rage Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, _10 Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony. 3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The ... thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, _15 As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near--Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake. 4. Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew _20 On flowers half dead;--thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.