'Other flowering isles'

 

     Other flowering isles must be
     In the sea of Life and Agony:
     Other spirits float and flee
     O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
     On some rock the wild wave wraps,
     With folded wings they waiting sit			
     For my bark, to pilot it
     To some calm and blooming cove,
     Where for me, and those I love,
     May a windless bower be built,
     Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
     In a dell mid lawny hills,
     Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
     And soft sunshine, and the sound
     Of old forests echoing round,
     And the light and smell divine
     Of all flowers that breathe and shine:

     We may live so happy there,
     That the Spirits of the Air,
     Envying us, may even entice
     To our healing Paradise
     The polluting multitude;
     But their rage would be subdued
     By that clime divine and calm,
     And the winds whose wings rain balm
     On the uplifted soul, and leaves			
     Under which the bright sea heaves;
     While each breathless interval
     In their whisperings musical
     The inspired soul supplies
     With its own deep melodies,
     And the love which heals all strife
     Circling, like the breath of life,
     All things in that sweet abode
     With its own mild brotherhood:

     They, not it, would change; and soon		
     Every sprite beneath the moon
     Would repent its envy vain,
     And the earth grow young again.


     Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1821),
     fra: "Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills", oktober 1818.

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