Shelley - Adonais

IX 

       Oh, weep for Adonais! The quick Dreams, 

       The passion-winged Ministers of thought, 

       Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams 

       Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught 

       The love which was its music, wander not— 

       Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, 

       But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot 

       Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, 

They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again. 

X 

       And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, 

       And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, 

       "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; 

       See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, 

       Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies 

       A tear some Dream has loosen'd from his brain." 

       Lost Angel of a ruin'd Paradise! 

       She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain 

She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. 

XI 

       One from a lucid urn of starry dew 

       Wash'd his light limbs as if embalming them; 

       Another clipp'd her profuse locks, and threw 

       The wreath upon him, like an anadem, 

       Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; 

       Another in her wilful grief would break 

       Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem 

       A greater loss with one which was more weak; 

And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek. 

XII 

       Another Splendour on his mouth alit, 

       That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath 

       Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, 

       And pass into the panting heart beneath 

       With lightning and with music: the damp death 

       Quench'd its caress upon his icy lips; 

       And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath 

       Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, 

It flush'd through his pale limbs, and pass'd to its eclipse.