Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

From the Arabic, an Imitation

MY faint spirit was sitting in the light
   Of thy looks, my love;
   It panted for thee like the hind at noon
   For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
   Bore thee far from me;
   My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
   Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
   Or the death they bear,
   The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
   With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
   Shall mine cling to thee,
   Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
   It may bring to thee.

1. Wine Of The Fairies
2. Homer's Hymn to Minerva
3. The Fitful Alternations of the Rain
4. To Mary
5. Letter To Maria Gisborne

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