8. 
I love Love—­though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things, 45
Spirit, I love thee—­
Thou art love and life!  Oh, come,
Make once more my heart thy home.

***

MUTABILITY.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.  There is a fair draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts.]

1. 
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies. 
What is this world’s delight? 5
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.

2. 
Virtue, how frail it is! 
Friendship how rare! 
Love, how it sells poor bliss 10
For proud despair! 
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.

3. 
Whilst skies are blue and bright, 15
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—­and from thy sleep 20
Then wake to weep.

NOTES:  9 how Boscombe manuscript; too editions 1824, 1839. 12 though soon they fall]though soon we or so soon they cj.  Rossetti.

***

LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

[Published with “Hellas”, 1821.]

What! alive and so bold, O Earth? 
Art thou not overbold? 
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold? 5
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old? 
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?

How! is not thy quick heart cold? 
What spark is alive on thy hearth? 10
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled? 
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth? 
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled—­ 15
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?

‘Who has known me of old,’ replied Earth,
’Or who has my story told? 
It is thou who art overbold.’ 
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth 20
As she sung, ’To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.

‘Still alive and still bold,’ shouted Earth, 25
’I grow bolder and still more bold. 
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth. 
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled, 30
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm.  I feed on whom I fed.