4. 
But still ’twas some Spirit of kindness descending
To share in the load of mortality’s woe,
Who over thy lowly-built sepulchre bending
Bade sympathy’s tenderest teardrop to flow. 25
Not for THEE soft compassion celestials did know,
But if ANGELS can weep, sure MAN may repine,
May weep in mute grief o’er thy low-laid shrine.

5. 
And did I then say, for the altar of glory,
That the earliest, the loveliest of flowers I’d entwine, 30
Though with millions of blood-reeking victims ’twas gory,
Though the tears of the widow polluted its shrine,
Though around it the orphans, the fatherless pine? 
Oh!  Fame, all thy glories I’d yield for a tear
To shed on the grave of a heart so sincere. 35

***

LOVE.

[Published (without title) by Hogg, “Life of Shelley”, 1858; dated 1811.  The title is Rossetti’s (1870).]

Why is it said thou canst not live
In a youthful breast and fair,
Since thou eternal life canst give,
Canst bloom for ever there? 
Since withering pain no power possessed, 5
Nor age, to blanch thy vermeil hue,
Nor time’s dread victor, death, confessed,
Though bathed with his poison dew,
Still thou retain’st unchanging bloom,
Fixed tranquil, even in the tomb. 10
And oh! when on the blest, reviving,
The day-star dawns of love,
Each energy of soul surviving
More vivid, soars above,
Hast thou ne’er felt a rapturous thrill, 15
Like June’s warm breath, athwart thee fly,
O’er each idea then to steal,
When other passions die? 
Felt it in some wild noonday dream,
When sitting by the lonely stream, 20
Where Silence says, ‘Mine is the dell’;
And not a murmur from the plain,
And not an echo from the fell,
Disputes her silent reign.

***

ON A FETE AT CARLTON HOUSE:  FRAGMENT.

[Published by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870; dated 1811.]

By the mossy brink,
With me the Prince shall sit and think;
Shall muse in visioned Regency,
Rapt in bright dreams of dawning Royalty.

***

TO A STAR.

[Published (without title) by Hogg, “Life of Shelley”, 1858; dated 1811.  The title is Rossetti’s (1870).]

Sweet star, which gleaming o’er the darksome scene
Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest,
Spanglet of light on evening’s shadowy veil,
Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake,
Lighting the hour of sacred love; more sweet 5
Than the expiring morn-star’s paly fires:—­