Shelley by Henry Van Dyke
Knight-errant of the Never-ending Quest, And Minstrel of the Unfulfilled Desire; For ever tuning thy frail earthly lyre To some unearthly music, and possessed With painful passionate longing to invest The golden dream of Love's immortal fire In mortal robes of beautiful attire, And fold perfection to thy throbbing breast!
What wonder, Shelley, if the restless wave Should claim thee and the leaping flame consume Thy drifted form on Viareggio's beach? Fate to thy body gave a fitting grave, And bade thy soul ride on with fiery plume, Thy wild song ring in ocean's yearning speech!
|