Inscription

Lithe ivy, let thy gliding foliage shade This urn, where Shelley’s sacred dust is laid, Whose fire was quenched beneath the angry sea, That laves the sunny shores of Italy! The Elements did moan around his bier. In him they lost their best interpreter— For his most subtile, sympathizing frame Was as a sweet melodious instrument, Through all whose pores and million channels went The Universe into his heart and brain In musical influxes, that ebbed amain From out his lips, in verse of power to tame A tiger’s heart, or suage an angel’s pain. Through his well-jointed reeds the circling gyres Of planets poured in song their soft desires, And glad ovations, while their vernal dreams The leaves did whisper, and the clouds and streams And winds their fluent exultations pour, With sky-pavilioned ocean’s organ-roar.