Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]
FROM THE ARABIC
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.
Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]
THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG
My ornaments are arms,
My pastime is in war,
My bed is cold upon the wold,
My lamp yon star.
My journeyings are long,
My slumbers short and broken;
From hill to hill I wander still,
Kissing thy token.