2. 
Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight;
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more—­Oh, never more! 10

***

REMEMBRANCE.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, where it is entitled “A Lament”.  Three manuscript copies are extant:  The Trelawny manuscript ("Remembrance"), the Harvard manuscript ("Song”) and the Houghton manuscript—­the last written by Shelley on a flyleaf of a copy of “Adonais".]

1. 
Swifter far than summer’s flight—­
Swifter far than youth’s delight—­
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone—­
As the earth when leaves are dead, 5
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.

2. 
The swallow summer comes again—­
The owlet night resumes her reign—­ 10
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou.—­
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow 15
Sunny leaves from any bough.

3. 
Lilies for a bridal bed—­
Roses for a matron’s head—­
Violets for a maiden dead—­
Pansies let MY flowers be:  20
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear—­
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.

NOTES: 
5-7 So editions 1824, 1839, Trelawny manuscript, Harvard manuscript;
    As the wood when leaves are shed,
    As the night when sleep is fled,
    As the heart when joy is dead Houghton manuscript.
13 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript. 
    My heart to-day desires to-morrow Trelawny manuscript.
20 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript. 
    Sadder flowers find for me Trelawny manuscript.
24 one hope, one fear]a hope, a fear Trelawny manuscript.

***

TO EDWARD WILLIAMS.

[Published in Ascham’s edition of the “Poems”, 1834.  There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts.]

1. 
The serpent is shut out from Paradise. 
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies: 
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower
Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs 5
Fled in the April hour. 
I too must seldom seek again
Near happy friends a mitigated pain.

2. 
Of hatred I am proud,—­with scorn content;
Indifference, that once hurt me, now is grown 10
Itself indifferent;
But, not to speak of love, pity alone
Can break a spirit already more than bent. 
The miserable one
Turns the mind’s poison into food,—­ 15
Its medicine is tears,—­its evil good.