Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Sonnets. IX.X. ShelleyEmily Pfeiffer (18411890)
A haunted forest, with a heart so deep,
That none could sit beneath its pines to weep,
But it would throb for them mysteriously.
Here, in this place I dreamed there met with me
The spirit who his part in it doth keep,
Albeit his starry orbit now hath sweep
As vast as Galileo’s, if more free.
Of waves upon a shore seemed to my mind
The moan of a remorseful soul, to meet
The homicidal Sea, whose passion blind
Had slain him; as it writhed about my feet
Methought his spirit past me on the wind.
Thou had’st of him; and all devouring Fire,
Who made his body thine with love as dire;
Air pregnate with his breath, and thou accurst,
Mother of Sorrows, Earth, whose claim is first
Upon thy children dead, who from the pyre
Received his dust,—what did his soul require—
Wring from ye—ere your Protean bonds he burst?
O’er-leapt the rounds of change the earthlier dead
May weary through, nor needing Lethean bath
To speed anew his soul’s etherial tread,
Hath left the elements, spurned from his path,
To challenge grosser spirits in his stead.