English poem
Fragment: 'When a Lover Clasps His Fairest'
When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest. Their caresses were like the chaff In the tempest, and be our laugh His despair--her epitaph!
When a mother clasps her child, Watch till dusty Death has piled His cold ashes on the clay; She has loved it many a day-- She remains,--it fades away.
More by Percy Bysshe Shelley
- Fragment: 'The Viewless and Invisible Consequence'
- Fragment: 'Unrisen Splendour of the Brightest Sun'
- Fragment: 'Wake The Serpent Not'.
- Fragment: 'What Men Gain Fairly'.
- Fragment: 'When Soft Winds And Sunny Skies'.
- Fragment: 'Ye Gentle Visitations Of Calm Thought'.
- Fragment: A Roman's Chamber.
- Fragment: A Serpent-Face