To --
Percy Bysshe Shelley
When passion's trance is overpast, If tenderness and truth could last, Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep Some mortal slumber, dark and deep, I should not weep, I should not weep!
It were enough to feel, to see, Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest--and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been,
After the slumber of the year The woodland violets reappear; All things revive in field or grove, And sky and sea, but two, which move And form all others, life and love.