Of arms.’
The supreme glory of Shelley is that he, beyond all others, did go where ‘no keel ever ploughed before,’ did dwell more completely than any other has ever dwelt
‘on an imagined shore
Where the gods spoke with him.’
The poet is wisest, and his creations are most beautiful when his thoughts roam alone in
‘fields of Heaven-reflecting sea,
. . . . . . . . . .
Beneath the uplifting winds, like plains of corn
Swayed by the summer air;’
and when he, like Proteus, marks