Newest Poem: An Hour’s Peace

Newest Short-Fiction: Birds Aren’t Real



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.