The Question

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

1792-1822


I DREAM'D that, as I wander'd by the way,
         Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring;
And gentle odours led my steps astray,
         Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
         Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kiss'd it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.

There grew pied wind-flowers and violets;
         Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth,
The constellated flower that never sets;
         Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets--
         Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth--
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
         Green cowbind and the moonlight-colour'd May,
And cherry-blossoms, and white cups whose wine
         Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day;
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine,
         With its dark buds and leaves wandering astray;
And flowers, azure, black, and streak'd with gold,
Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold.

And nearer to the river's trembling edge
         There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with white,
And starry river-buds among the sedge,
         And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge
         With moonlight beams of their own watery light;
And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

Methought that of these visionary flowers
         I made a nosegay, bound in such a way
That the same hues which in their natural bowers
         Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours
         Within my hand;--and then, elate and gay,
I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come,
That I might there present it--O! to whom?

DayPoems Poem No. 568
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/568.html">The Question by Percy Bysshe Shelley</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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