[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, and dated
January 1, 1821.]
1.
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping, _5
Mocking your untimely weeping.
2.
As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; _10
Solemn Hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.
3.
As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days _15
Rocks the Year:—be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.
4.
January gray is here,
Like a sexton by her grave; _20
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps—but, O ye Hours!
Follow with May’s fairest flowers.
***
TO NIGHT.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book.]
1.
Swiftly walk o’er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, _5
‘Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!
2.
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; _10
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o’er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long-sought!