Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, <br />And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze, <br />And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain, <br />'Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees. <br /> <br />But sweeter than all was thy tone of affection, <br />Which scarce seemed to break on the stillness of eve, <br />Though the time it is past!--yet the dear recollection, <br />For aye in the heart of thy [Percy] must live. <br /> <br />Yet he hears thy dear voice in the summer winds sighing, <br />Mild accents of happiness lisp in his ear, <br />When the hope-winged moments athwart him are flying, <br />And he thinks of the friend to his bosom so dear.-- <br /> <br />And thou dearest friend in his bosom for ever <br />Must reign unalloyed by the fast rolling year, <br />He loves thee, and dearest one never, Oh! never <br />Canst thou cease to be loved by a heart so sincere. <br /> <br />AUGUST, 1810.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-to-harriet-2/
