File:With Shelley in Italy - being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822 (1905) (14595584417).jpg

Identifier: withshelleyinitashelrich (find matches)
Title: With Shelley in Italy : being a selection of the poems and letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley which have to do with his life in Italy from 1818 to 1822
Year: 1905 (1900s)
Authors: Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1792-1822 McMahan, Anna Benneson
Subjects: Poetry of places -- Italy Italy -- Description and travel Poetry
Publisher: Chicago : McClurg
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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cho, and from whoseruined crevices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as thecrescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. (15) WITH SHELLEY IN ITALY LINES WEITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEANHILLS ^ October, 1818 Many a green isle needs must beIn the deep wide sea of misery,Or the mariner, Avorn and wan,Never thus could voyage onDay and night, and night and day.Drifting on his dreary way.With the solid darkness blackClosing round his vesseFs track;Whilst above the sunless sky.Big with clouds, hangs heavily.And behind the tempest fleetHarries on with lightning feet,Eiviug sail, and cord, and plank,Till the ship has almost drankDeath from the oer-brimming deep;And sinks down, down, like that sleepWhen the dreamer seems to beWeltering through eternity;And the dim low line beforeOf a dark and distant shoreStill recedes, as ever still, ^ Written after a days excursion among the mountains wtich surroundArqua —once the retreat and now the sepulchre of Petrarch. — ShelleysNote. (16)
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2i > THE YEAR 1818 Longing with divided will But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on Oer the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet; What, if there no heart will meet His with loves impatient beat; Wander wheresoever he may. Can he dream before that day To find refuge from distress In friendships smile, in loves caress ? Then t will wreak him little woe Whether such there be or no : Senseless is the breast, and cold. Which relenting love would fold; Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of paiii did fill; Every little living nerve That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow. Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon Decembers bough. On the beach of a northern seaWhich tempests shake eternally.As once the wretch there lay to sleep.Lies a solitary heap.One white skull and seven dry bones,On the margin of the stones,(17) WITH SHELLEY IN ITALY Where a few grey rushes stand. Boundaries of the sea and

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