Since this is the romantic holiday, rather than to honor romanticism through my own words like I do on Romantic Mondays, I thought I would honor both romanticism and a master Romantic poet. Shelley is my favorite poet, partly because I have an incredible leather bound, gold leafed book of his complete works printed in 1884, which I’ve traveled everywhere with, so I’ve established a kind of kinship with him. I feel that by putting his words on my blog, it’s like welcoming this brilliant guest blogger, however posthumously. Thank you Shelley for your continuous inspiration.
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
O Mary dear, that you were here
With your brown eyes bright and clear.
And your sweet voice, like a bird
Singing love to its lone mate
In the ivy bower disconsolate;
Voice the sweetest ever heard!
And your brow more…
Than the sky
Of this azure Italy.
Mary dear, come to me soon,
I am not well whilst thou art far;
As sunset to the sphered moon,
As twilight to the western star,
Thou, beloved, art to me.
O Mary dear, that you were here;
The Castle echo whispers ‘Here!’