Sonnet to Shelley.

Divinely strong and beautiful in soul!
With more than melody of mortal voice!
The free thy spirit's majesty extol,
When Liberty is made thy Muse's choice.
And then how pure and pleasing is thy song,
When Beauty - goddess of thy mind - its theme!
But most to thee those sweet, sad strains belong,
Where Truth we find through musing's fitful dream:
And trace Uncertainty and how it gropes
Through this and time to come with faltering feet,
And vanity of Pleasure, and the Hopes
Which Fear enfeebles and the Fates defeat:
Strains oft as if at thy once-sung desire
The wild west wind had ta'en thee for its lyre.