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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.

 
Sur le poète
Percy Bysshe Shelley
 
Du même poète
Ozymandias
Music, when Soft Voices die
Hymn of Pan
The Invitation
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To a Skylark
The Moon
Ode to the West Wind
The Indian Serenade
Night
Lines
To ——
The Question
Remorse
 
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