BEYOND the cheat of Time, here where you died, you live;
You pace the garden-walks secure and sensitive;
You linger on the stair: Love’s lonely pulses leap!
The harpsichord is shaken, the dogs look up from sleep.
Years after, and years after, you keep your heirdom still,
Your winning youth about you, your joyous force and skill,
Unvexed, unapprehended, with waking sense adored;
And still the house is happy that hath so dear a lord.
To every quiet inmate, strong in the cheer you brought,
Your name is as a spell midway of speech and thought;
And unto whoso knocks, an awe-struck visitor,
The sunshine that was you floods all the open door!
A LAST WORD ON SHELLEY.
EACH ninth hierarchal wave, a league of sound,
To phantom shreds the hostile crags confound,
To wreck on wreck forlorn. The crags remain.
Smile at the storm for our safe poet’s sake!
Not ever this ordainèd world shall break
That mounting, foolish, foam-bright heart again.