Publication – is the Auction
Of the mind of man –
Poverty – be justifying
For so foul a thing
Possibly – but we – would rather
From our garret go
White – Unto the White Creator –
Than invest – Our snow –
Thought belong to him who gave it –
Then – to Him Who bear
Its Corporeal illustration – Sell
The Royal Air –
In the Parcel – Be the Merchant
Of the Heavenly Grace –
But reduce no Human Spirit
To Disgrace of Price
… The beautiful, useless
Tang of eucalyptus leaves spelt your absence.
The aftermath of a mouthful of wine
Was like inhaling you off a cold pillow…
It all came back to me last night, stirred
By the sootfall of your things at bedtime,
Your head-down, tail-up hunt in a bottom draw
For the black plunge-line nightdress.
A venturous boredom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did.
I liked the central couplet in the middle of the first quatrain, he says:
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas.
Very evocative and economical in its language and structure.
Finally after hearing the ‘first cuckoo’s melancholy cry’, the narrator starts to drift to sleep; his mind ‘failing,’ and growing ‘dizzy’ with tiredness. Unusual for Shelly, but at a dozen lines this poem is much swifter and terser than his other stuff. In short, this is a fine poem with some nice touches.