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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478361" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Edward Williams</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>The serpent is shut out from Paradise.<br>The wounded deer must seek the herb no more<br>In which its heart-cure lies:<br>The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower<br>Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs <br>Fled in the April hour.<br>I too must seldom seek again<br>Near happy friends a mitigated pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Of hatred I am proud,--with scorn content;<br>Indifference, that once hurt me, now is grown<br>Itself indifferent;<br>But, not to speak of love, pity alone<br>Can break a spirit already more than bent.<br>The miserable one<br>Turns the mind’s poison into food,--<br>Its medicine is tears,--its evil good.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Therefore, if now I see you seldomer,<br>Dear friends, dear FRIEND! know that I only fly<br>Your looks, because they stir<br>Griefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die:<br>The very comfort that they minister<br>I scarce can bear, yet I,<br>So deeply is the arrow gone,<br>Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>When I return to my cold home, you ask <br>Why I am not as I have ever been.<br>YOU spoil me for the task<br>Of acting a forced part in life's dull scene,--<br>Of wearing on my brow the idle mask<br>Of author, great or mean,<br>In the world's carnival. I sought<br>Peace thus, and but in you I found it not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot<br>With various flowers, and every one still said,<br>'She loves me--loves me not.'<br>And if this meant a vision long since fled--<br>If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought--<br>If it meant,--but I dread<br>To speak what you may know too well:<br>Still there was truth in the sad oracle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home;<br>No bird so wild but has its quiet nest,<br>When it no more would roam;<br>The sleepless billows on the ocean’s breast<br>Break like a bursting heart, and die in foam, <br>And thus at length find rest:<br>Doubtless there is a place of peace<br>Where MY weak heart and all its throbs will cease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>I asked her, yesterday, if she believed<br>That I had resolution. One who HAD <br>Would ne’er have thus relieved<br>His heart with words,—but what his judgement bade<br>Would do, and leave the scorner unrelieved.<br>These verses are too sad<br>To send to you, but that I know, <br>Happy yourself, you feel another’s woe.</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=478361" data-title="To Edward Williams de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="I.
The serpent is shut out from Paradise.
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies:
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower
Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs 
Fled in the April hour.
I too must s..."></div>
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