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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478132" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fiordispina</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The season was the childhood of sweet June,<br>Whose sunny hours from morning until noon<br>Went creeping through the day with silent feet,<br>Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;<br>Like the long years of blest Eternity <br>Never to be developed. Joy to thee,<br>Fiordispina and thy Cosimo,<br>For thou the wonders of the depth canst know<br>Of this unfathomable flood of hours,<br>Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They were two cousins, almost like to twins,<br>Except that from the catalogue of sins<br>Nature had rased their love—which could not be<br>But by dissevering their nativity.<br>And so they grew together like two flowers <br>Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers<br>Lull or awaken in their purple prime,<br>Which the same hand will gather—the same clime<br>Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see<br>All those who love—and who e’er loved like thee, <br>Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo,<br>Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow<br>The ardours of a vision which obscure<br>The very idol of its portraiture.<br>He faints, dissolved into a sea of love;<br>But thou art as a planet sphered above;<br>But thou art Love itself—ruling the motion<br>Of his subjected spirit: such emotion<br>Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May<br>Had not brought forth this morn—your wedding-day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew,<br>Ye faint-eyed children of the ... Hours,’<br>Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers<br>Which she had from the breathing--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A table near of polished porphyry.<br>They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye<br>That looked on them—a fragrance from the touch<br>Whose warmth ... checked their life; a light such<br>As sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, which did reprove <br>The childish pity that she felt for them,<br>And a ... remorse that from their stem<br>She had divided such fair shapes ... made<br>A feeling in the ... which was a shade<br>Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay <br>All gems that make the earth’s dark bosom gay.<br>... rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms,<br>And that leaf tinted lightly which assumes<br>The livery of unremembered snow--<br>Violets whose eyes have drunk--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fiordispina and her nurse are now<br>Upon the steps of the high portico,<br>Under the withered arm of Media<br>She flings her glowing arm</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">... step by step and stair by stair, <br>That withered woman, gray and white and brown--<br>More like a trunk by lichens overgrown<br>Than anything which once could have been human.<br>And ever as she goes the palsied woman</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'How slow and painfully you seem to walk,<br>Poor Media! you tire yourself with talk.'<br>‘And well it may,<br>Fiordispina, dearest—well-a-day!<br>You are hastening to a marriage-bed;<br>I to the grave!’—‘And if my love were dead,<br>Unless my heart deceives me, I would lie<br>Beside him in my shroud as willingly<br>As now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought.'<br>'Fie, child! Let that unseasonable thought<br>Not be remembered till it snows in June;<br>Such fancies are a music out of tune<br>With the sweet dance your heart must keep to-night.<br>What! would you take all beauty and delight<br>Back to the Paradise from which you sprung,<br>And leave to grosser mortals?--<br>And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweet<br>And subtle mystery by which spirits meet?<br>Who knows whether the loving game is played,<br>When, once of mortal [vesture] disarrayed,<br>The naked soul goes wandering here and there<br>Through the wide deserts of Elysian air?<br>The violet dies not till it’--</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478132" data-title="Fiordispina de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="The season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity 
Never to be developed. Joy..."></div>
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