The Triumph of Life
The triumph of life is a bequest, Twas given beyond or below the stars, When depths crept deep; and still my thoughts confess And mostly framed above these perfect bars! O hours that softly come and softly go,— Like streams aglow amidst the mountain scenes— Cascading by flickering meadow show, As fast and sweet as childhood’s dreams.
The trees must be our welcome mat, The sprightly stream brings forth a care— We frighten not the honest bee, That fills its summer, seeks to dare! Rest here, close gone—but here, far off!— Be quiet now as morning still! Tell that bright breath above and soon away, Shatter on hearts, the years—be wise and seek thy will— Rest here!
- Percy Bysshe Shelley