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FRAGMENT: ‘WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST’.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]

1. 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!

2. 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.

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