To Shelley

Shelley! whose song so sweet was sweetest here,
We knew each other little; now I walk
Along the same green path, along the shore
Of Lerici, along the sandy plain
Trending from Lucca to the Pisan pines,
Under whose shadow scatter'd camels lie,

The old and young, and rarer deer uplift
Their knotty branches o'er high-feather'd fern.
Legions of happiness! I greet ye well;

Your solitudes, and not your cities, stay'd
My steps among you; for with you alone
Converst I, and with those ye bore of old.

He who beholds the skies of Italy
Sees ancient Rome reflected, sees beyond,

Into more glorious Hellas, nurse of Gods
And godlike men: dwarfs people other lands.
Frown not, maternal England! thy weak child
Kneels at thy feet and owns in shame a lie.