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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341344" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At Shelley’s House At Lerici</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maiden, with English hair, and eyes<br>The colour of Italian skies,<br>What seek you by this shore?<br>``I seek, sir, for the latest home<br>Where Shelley dwelt, and, o'er the foam<br>Speeding, returned no more.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, then, with me: I seek it, too.<br>Are you his kith? For strangely you<br>Resemble him in mien.<br>``No, save it be that all are kin<br>Who cherish the same thoughts within,<br>And gaze on things unseen.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It should be easy, sure, to find.<br>Waves close in front, woods close behind,<br>Green shutters, whitewashed walls;<br>A little space of rocky ground,<br>Where climbs the wave, and, round and round<br>The seagull curves and calls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! there it stands. A quiet spot,<br>Untenanted, it seems forgot,<br>Like shrine from which the God<br>Hath vanished, and but left behind<br>A something in the air, the wind,<br>Recalling where he trod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon this balcony how oft,<br>When waves were smooth and winds were soft,<br>As now, he must have stood,<br>And dreamed of days when men should be<br>Bondless as this unfettered sea,<br>And peaceful as that wood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What would he find if came he now?<br>A phantom crown on kingly brow,<br>Veiled sceptre, trembling throne;<br>Pulpits where threat and curse have ceased,<br>And shrines whereat half-sceptic priest<br>Worships, too oft, alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With muffled psalm and whispered hymn,<br>At secret dawn or twilight dim,<br>A pious remnant pray;<br>For their maimed rites indulgence plead,<br>And, half uncertain of their creed,<br>Explain their God away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone the conventions Shelley cursed:<br>The first are last, the last are first;<br>The lame, the halt, the blind,<br>Now in the seat of power, along<br>With the far-seeing and the strong,<br>Mould mandates for mankind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No longer doth man's will decide,<br>And woman's feebler impulse guide;<br>He yields to her his might:<br>Duty hath grown an old-world tale,<br>And chaste Obedience rends her veil,<br>For epicene delight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where now do towering despots reign<br>Over lithe knee and servile brain,<br>The scared, the base, the bought?<br>Monarchs themselves now bend with awe<br>Before the kingliness of Law,<br>The majesty of Thought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, Kings have gone, or reign as slaves;<br>Religion mumbles round our graves,<br>But shapes our lives no more:<br>Tradition, thrice-spurned Sibyl, burns<br>The leaves mob Sovereignty spurns,<br>Contemptuous of her lore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Maiden with the sea-blue eyes,<br>With whom, beneath these sea-blue skies,<br>Shelley had loved to live,<br>Forgive me if his dream, unborn<br>Then, but now adult, moves my scorn:<br>Would He too not forgive?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For where both Crown and Cowl defied<br>Sue for the ruth they once denied,<br>What would he find instead?<br>A fiercer despot, fouler creed,<br>The Rule of Gold, the rites of Greed,<br>And a bitterer cry for bread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wake, poet! and retune your strings.<br>The earth now swarms with petty kings,<br>Seated on self-made thrones,<br>And altar-tables richly spread,<br>Where Roguery consecrates the bread,<br>And Opulence atones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here Shelley prayed that War might cease<br>From earth, and Pentecostal Peace<br>Descend with dovelike breath.<br>Look round this bay! each treeless gorge,<br>Each scarred ravine, incessant forge<br>The instruments of death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From Salterbrand's unfreezing peaks<br>To sunny Manfredonia's creeks,<br>Have alien satraps gone;<br>But, guarding Italy the Free,<br>Her murderous mammoth-monsters, see,<br>Come grimly wallowing on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, here He dwelt and dreamed: and there,<br>Gleams Porto Venere the fair,<br>The mockery of a name.<br>Where fervent Venus once was Queen,<br>Hot Mars now ravishes the scene,<br>And fans a fiercer flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Maiden with the English brow,<br>Although from me, who shortly now<br>Must tread life's downward slope,<br>Illusions one by one depart,<br>Still foster in your virgin heart<br>The embryo of Hope.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hills remain, the woods, the waves;<br>And they alone are dupes or slaves<br>Who, spurning Nature's breast,<br>Too high would soar, too deep would sound,<br>And madden vainly round and round<br>The orbit of unrest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pity, too, lingers. As I speak,<br>The teardrops tremble on your cheek,<br>Too silent to deceive;<br>And with assuaging hand you show<br>How tenderness still tempers woe,<br>And none need singly grieve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes! sweet it were, with you for guide,<br>To float across that dimpling tide,<br>And, on its farther shore,<br>To prove if Venus still holds sway,<br>And, wandering with you round the bay,<br>Tempt back one's youth once more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, child! it is not Shelley's world.<br>Fancy's light sails had best be furled,<br>Before they surge and swell.<br>What helm can steer the heart? or who<br>Keep moored, inspired by such as You?<br>Heaven prosper you! Farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
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The colour of Italian skies,
What seek you by this shore?
``I seek, sir, for the latest home
Where Shelley dwelt, and, o'er the foam
Speeding, returned no more.''

Come, then, with me: I seek it, too.
Are you hi..."></div>
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