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Percy Bysshe Shelley - Love
Work rating: Low

Why is it said thou canst not live
In a youthful breast and fair,
Since thou eternal life canst give,
Canst bloom for ever there?
Since withering pain no power possessed, 
Nor age, to blanch thy vermeil hue,
Nor time`s dread victor, death, confessed,
Though bathed with his poison dew,
Still thou retain`st unchanging bloom,
Fixed tranquil, even in the tomb. 
And oh! when on the blest, reviving,
The day-star dawns of love,
Each energy of soul surviving
More vivid, soars above,
Hast thou ne`er felt a rapturous thrill, 
Like June`s warm breath, athwart thee fly,
O`er each idea then to steal,
When other passions die?
Felt it in some wild noonday dream,
When sitting by the lonely stream, 
Where Silence says, `Mine is the dell`;
And not a murmur from the plain,
And not an echo from the fell,
Disputes her silent reign.
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