Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

Not to the sensual1 ear, but, more endeared,

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;

Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

Though winning near the goal-yet, do not grieve;

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

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Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed

Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;

And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy
love!

For ever warm and still to be enjoyed,
For ever panting, and for ever young;

I sensual. Physical.

ODE TO THE WEST WIND

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

[Shelley's own note on this poem is as follows: "Conceived and chiefly written in a wood that skirts the Arno, near Florence, and on a day when the tempestuous wind, whose temperature is at once mild and animating, was collecting the vapors which pour down the autumnal rains. The phenomenon alluded to at the end of the third stanza is well known to naturalists. The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, of rivers, and of lakes sympathizes with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is consequently influenced by the winds which announce it." The latter part of the poem expresses Shelley's interpretation of his personality (see especially line 56), at a time when his radical views had made him a suspected exile, but when he still expected the ultimate triumph of the doctrines of freedom for which he had always contended. The metre is the Italian "terza rima"; notice that the first and third lines of each tercet rime with the middle line of the preceding.]

I

own

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh hear!

IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

1 Manad. A frenzied Bacchic dancer.

2 coil. Murmur.

3 Baia's bay. Near Naples; in the vicinity are many ancient ruins.

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In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,

Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains,

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,

The Spirit he loves remains;

And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

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