Impressions are like winds; you feel their cool <br />Swift kiss upon the brow, yet know not where <br />They sprang to birth: so like a pool <br />Rippled by winds from out their forest lair <br />My soul was stir'd to life; its twilight fled; <br />There passed across its solitude a dream <br />That wing'd with supreme ecstasy did seem; <br />That gave the kiss of life to long-lost dead. <br /> <br />A lark trill'd in the blue: and suddenly <br />Upon the wings of his immortal ode <br />My soul rushed singing to the ether sky <br />And found in visions, dreams, its real abode- <br />I fled with Shelley, with the lark afar, <br />Unto the realms where the eternal are. <br /> <br />May 2nd. 1916<br /><br />John William Streets<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shelley-in-the-trenches/
