IT was not thou alone I heard,
First lark that sang from English skies,
And to mine ears seemed less a bird
Than chorister of Paradise:
Full sweet from heaven thy music fell,
Yet with it came two voices more,
Two songs that blent with thine to tell
The praise I knew of thee before.
Thy truth to home and heaven sang one —
And Wordsworth’s note serene and strong,
With earth and sky in unison,
Made of thy flight itself a song.
The other blither strain I caught
Bore never a message but “ Rejoice ; ”
Song of thy very song, methought,
Exultant with thine own glad voice.
And unto this, I knew not how,
Rose answer from the sons of men :
“ The world is listening, Shelley, now,
As thou didst listen then.”
M. A. de Wolfe Howe, Jr.