O holy virgin! clad in purest white, Unlock heav'n's golden gates, and issue forth; Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring The honey'd dew that cometh on waking day. O radiant morning, salute the sun Rous'd like a huntsman to the chase, and with Thy buskin'd feet appear upon our hills. ...

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I weep for Adonais -he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!" Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies In darkness? ...

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The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky. Who would "go parading" In London, "and masquerading," On such a night of June With that beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is! ...

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