'Twixt those twin worlds,—the world of Sleep, which gave <br />No dream to warn,—the tidal world of Death, <br />Which the earth's sea, as the earth, replenisheth,— <br />Shelley, Song's orient sun, to breast the wave, <br />Rose from this couch that morn. Ah! did he brave <br />Only the sea?—or did man's deed of hell <br />Engulph his bark 'mid mists impenetrable? . . . <br />No eye discerned, nor any power might save. <br />When that mist cleared, O Shelley! what dread veil <br />Was rent for thee, to whom far-darkling Truth <br />Reigned sovereign guide through thy brief ageless youth? <br />Was the Truth thy Truth, Shelley?—Hush! All-Hail! <br />Past doubt, thou gav'st it; and in Truth's bright sphere <br />Art first of praisers, being most praisèd here.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/percy-bysshe-shelley-2/
