Posthumous Poems/The Centenary of Shelley
THE CENTENARY OF SHELLEY
Now a hundred years agone among us came
Down from some diviner sphere of purer flame,
Clothed in flesh to suffer, maimed of wings to soar,
One whom hate once hailed as now love hails by name,
Chosen of love as chosen of hatred. Now no more
Ear of man may hear or heart of man deplore
Aught of dissonance or doubt that mars the strain
Raised at last of love where love sat mute of yore,
Fame is less than love, and loss is more than gain,
When the sweetest souls and strongest, fallen in fight,
Slain and stricken as it seemed in base men's sight,
Rise and lighten on the graves of foeman slain,
Clothed about with love of all men as with light,
Suns that set not, stars that know not day from night.
Down from some diviner sphere of purer flame,
Clothed in flesh to suffer, maimed of wings to soar,
One whom hate once hailed as now love hails by name,
Chosen of love as chosen of hatred. Now no more
Ear of man may hear or heart of man deplore
Aught of dissonance or doubt that mars the strain
Raised at last of love where love sat mute of yore,
Fame is less than love, and loss is more than gain,
When the sweetest souls and strongest, fallen in fight,
Slain and stricken as it seemed in base men's sight,
Rise and lighten on the graves of foeman slain,
Clothed about with love of all men as with light,
Suns that set not, stars that know not day from night.
1892.