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The Grave Of Shelley

Fairytales

The Devoted Friend

The Happy Prince

The Nightingale and the Rose

The Remarkable Rocket

The Selfish Giant


Poetry

Ave Imperatrix

Ave Maria Gratia Plena

Fabien Dei Franchi

Flower of Love

From 'The Burden Of Itys'

From 'The Garden Of Eros'

Greece

Libertatis Sacra Fames

Madonna Mia

Magdalen Walks

On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria

Phedre

Portia

Roses And Rue

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel

The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

The Grave Of Shelley

The Harlot's House

Theocritus - A Villanelle

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems







The Grave Of Shelley


Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.





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