TO SHELLEY

By John William Draper

Shelley, thy spirit is set among the stars;

Exalted from the earth, thy soul sprang high

From these drab pavements to the star-lit sky;

In one grand ecstasy, frail mortal bars

Gave‘ way; thy soul purged pure of earthly scars —

No more to languish here with lingering sigh —

Rose from the foaming gulf where thou didst lie,

Rose from the ragged sail and splintered spars,

Rose to Elysium's fairest bowers serene;

There thine Ideal is ever at thy side;

And soft Apollo's hand doth strike the strings;

And Philomel, behind a bowery screen,

Pours forth Anacreon's blessings on thy bride

Who to thine ear unceasing rapture sings.