Oh! there are spirits of the air, <br /> And genii of the evening breeze, <br />And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair <br /> As star-beams among twilight trees: <br />Such lovely ministers to meet <br />Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. <br /> <br />With mountain winds, and babbling springs, <br /> And moonlight seas, that are the voice <br />Of these inexplicable things, <br /> Thou dost hold commune, and rejoice <br />When they did answer thee, but they <br />Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away. <br /> <br />And thou hast sought in starry eyes <br /> Beams that were never meant for thine, <br />Another's wealth: tame sacrifice <br /> To a fond faith ! still dost thou pine? <br />Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, <br />Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands? <br /> <br />Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope <br /> On the false earth's inconstancy? <br />Did thine own mind afford no scope <br /> Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? <br />That natural scenes or human smiles <br />Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles? <br /> <br />Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled <br /> Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; <br />The glory of the moon is dead; <br /> Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed; <br />Thine own soul still is true to thee, <br />But changed to a foul fiend through misery. <br /> <br />This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever <br /> Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, <br />Dream not to chase: the mad endeavour <br /> Would scourge thee to severer pangs. <br />Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, <br />Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-coleridge/
