On Discovering a Book of Shelley's Poems
A portion of the feeling that once hallowed Keats
when he kenned the vast unknown
And stood, a Watcher, rapt, alone,
Came to me, a vision, swift, unbearable
In beauty scarcely born.
The joy of fusing with a master's soul,
The searching bliss of first discovery
Swept my mind, and left me tense and free,
A spirit treading the fresh-dewed grass
In early morn.
Manuscripts: Vol. 9
, Article 14.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol9/iss4/14