WORLD! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before, When will return the glory of your prime ? No more-oh, never more! 144 THE POPLAR FIELD. Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar No more—oh, never more! SHELLEY. THE POPLAR FIELD. THE poplars are felled; farewell to the shade, Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; My fugitive years are all hasting away, With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. STANZAS. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man; Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, Have a being less durable even than he. Cowrer. STANZAS. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright; The breath of the moist air is light Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods, The city's voice itself is soft like solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor, I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown ; I sit upon the sands alone; The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within, nor calm around; 145 Nor that Content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found, And walked with inward glory crowned; Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ;— Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. SHELLEY. VERSES. NTHINKING, idle, wild, and young, I laughed, and talked, and danced, and sung; Concluding, in those hours of glee, That all the world was made for me! But when the days of trial came, When sickness shook this trembling frame, |