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THE QUESTION, 
SHELLEY, 

I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, 
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, 
And gentle odors led my steps astray, 
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring 
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. 



There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, 
The constellated flower that never sets ; 
Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth | 
The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
Its mother’s face with heayen-collected tears, 
When the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. 
And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
Green cowbind and the moonlight-colored May, 
And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day ; 
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray, 
And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold ; 
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge 
There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with 
white, 
And starry river buds among the sedge, 
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 

