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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.

“To Mary–”

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!’