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Newest Short-Fiction: Birds Aren’t Real

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Arethusa

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

from “The Complete Poetical Works” (1904)

Arethusa arose

From her couch of snows

In the Acroceraunian mountains,–

From cloud and from crag,

With many a jag,

Shepherding her bright fountains.

She leapt down the rocks,

With her rainbow locks

Streaming among the streams;–

Her steps paved with green

The downward ravine

Which slopes to the western gleams;

And gliding and springing

She went, ever singing,

In murmurs as soft as sleep;

The Earth seemed to love her,

And Heaven smiled above her,

As she lingered towards the deep.