Читать книгу Selected Poetry and Prose - Percy Bysshe Shelley - Страница 40

She left me at the silent time

When the moon had ceas’d to climb

The azure path of Heaven’s steep,

And like an albatross asleep,

Balanc’d on her wings of light,

Hover’d in the purple night,

Ere she sought her ocean nest

In the chambers of the West.

She left me, and I stay’d alone

Thinking over every tone

Which, though silent to the ear,

The enchanted heart could hear,

Like notes which die when born, but still

Haunt the echoes of the hill;

And feeling ever—oh, too much!—

The soft vibration of her touch,

As if her gentle hand, even now,

Lightly trembled on my brow;

And thus, although she absent were,

Memory gave me all of her

That even Fancy dares to claim:

Her presence had made weak and tame

All passions, and I lived alone

In the time which is our own;

The past and future were forgot,

As they had been, and would be, not.

But soon, the guardian angel gone,

The daemon reassum’d his throne

In my faint heart. I dare not speak

My thoughts, but thus disturb’d and weak

I sat and saw the vessels glide

Over the ocean bright and wide,

Like spirit-winged chariots sent

O’er some serenest element

For ministrations strange and far,

As if to some Elysian star

Sailed for drink to medicine

Such sweet and bitter pain as mine.

And the wind that wing’d their flight

From the land came fresh and light,

And the scent of winged flowers,

And the coolness of the hours

Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day,

Were scatter’d o’er the twinkling bay.

And the fisher with his lamp

And spear about the low rocks damp

Crept, and struck the fish which came

To worship the delusive flame.

Too happy they, whose pleasure sought

Extinguishes all sense and thought

Of the regret that pleasure leaves,

Destroying life alone, not peace!