Three Fragments of Shelley

Where art thou, my gentle child?
Let me think thy spirit feeds,
With its life intense and mild,
The love of living leaves and weeds,
Among these tombs and ruins wild;-
Let me think that through low seeds
Of sweet flowers and sunny grass,
Into their hues and scents may pass
A portion...

Thou art fair, and few are fairer
Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean;
They are robes that fit the wearer --
Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion
Ever falls and shifts and glances 
As the life within them dances.

 ... 

As dew beneath the wind of morning,
As the sea which whirlwinds waken, 
As the birds at thunder's warning,
As aught mute yet deeply shaken,
As one who feels an unseen spirit
Is my heart when thine is near it.

 ... 

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

                      V

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

 ...