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.