Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
I. To WordsworthPercy Bysshe Shelley (17921822)
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That things depart which never may return!
Childhood and youth, friendship and love’s first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine
Which thou too feel’st; yet I alone deplore.
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter’s midnight roar:
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude.
In honored poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty:—
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.