Shelley, thy spirit is set among the stars;
Exalted from the earth, thy soul sprang high
From these drab pavements to the star-lit sky;
In one grand ecstasy, frail mortal bars
Gave 'way; thy soul purged pure of earthly scars--
No more to languish here with lingering sigh--
Rose from the foaming gulf where thou didst lie,
Rose from the ragged sail and splintered spars,
Rose to Elysium's fairest bowers serene;
There thine Ideal is ever at thy side;
And soft Apollo's hand doth strike the strings;
And Philomel, behind a bowery screen,
Pours forth Anacreon's blessings on thy bride
Who to thine ear unceasing rapture sings.
_July 29, 1911._