The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (ed. Hutchinson, 1914)/Zucca
THE ZUCCA.[1]
I.
Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring,And infant Winter laughed upon the landAll cloudlessly and cold;—when I, desiringMore in this world than any understand,Wept o’er the beauty, which like sea retiring,Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sandOf my poor heart, and o’er the grass and flowersPale for the falsehood of the flattering hours.
II.
Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weepThe instability of all but weeping;And on the earth lulled in her winter sleepI woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creepThe wakening vernal airs, until thou, leapingFrom unremembered dreams, shalt [[ ]] seeNo death divide thy immortality.
III.
I loved—O no, I mean not one of ye,Or any earthly one, though ye are dearAs human heart to human heart may be;—I loved, I know not what—but this low sphereAnd all that it contains, contains not thee,Thou, whom seen no where, I feel everywhere,Dim object of my soul’s idolatry.Veiled art thou like—
IV.
By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest,Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden,Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,When for a moment thou art not forbiddenTo live within the life which thou bestowest;And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,Cold as a corpse after the spirit’s flight,Blank as the sun after the birth of night.
V.
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,In music and the sweet unconscious toneOf animals, and voices which are human,Meant to express some feelings of their own;In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,In flowers and leaves, and in the fresh grass shewn,Or dying in the autumn, I the mostAdore thee present or lament thee lost.
VI.
And thus I went, lamenting when I sawA plant upon the river’s margin lie,Like one who loved beyond his Nature’s law,And in despair had cast him down to die;Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thawHad blighted as a heart which hatred’s eyeCan blast not, but which pity kills; the dewLay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.
VII.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the EarthHad crushed it on her unmaternal breast.* * * * * * *
VIII.
I bore it to my chamber, and I plantedIt in a vase full of the lightest mould;The winter beams which out of Heaven slantedFell through the window panes, disrobed of cold,Upon its leaves and flowers; the star which pantedIn evening for the Day, whose car has rolledOver the horizon’s wave, with looks of lightSmiled on it from the threshold of the night.
IX.
The mitigated influences of airAnd light revived the plant, and from it grewStrong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,Full as a cup with the vine’s burning dew,O’erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphereOf vital warmth infolded it anew,And every impulse sent to every partThe unbeheld pulsations of its heart.
X.
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,Even if the sun and air had smiled not on it;For one wept o’er it all the winter longTears pure as Heaven’s rain, which fell upon itHour after hour; for sounds of softest songMixed with the stringed melodies that won itTo leave the gentle lips on which it slept,Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.
XI.
Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowersOn which he wept, the while the savage stormWaked by the darkest of December’s hoursWas raving round the chamber hushed and warm;The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,The fish were frozen in the pools, the formOf every summer plant was dead [[ ]]Whilst this * * *
January, 1822.