在很短的时间里，诗界的三位王子，正值青春或壮年，从人间飞起，加入崇高的团体，他们虽已死去，却仍在歌唱。他，首先，他最早的花环是用拉丁树林里的月桂编成的，被痛苦和不幸的爱情征服了，找到了更平静的家，被永恒罗马之上发光的天堂盖上了屋顶。一个更炽热的灵魂，它自己的凶暴的猎物，被更多的致命的泥土所束缚，在米索隆吉燃烧了，留下的空气直到今天还回响着它那响亮的绝望。同样远离拜伦的轻蔑和济慈的魔力，就像早晨一样，在古老的森林里永远新生，用金色的触碰唤醒一个荒芜的苍老世界，雪莱，生于云中，在空气、阳光和露水的滋养下成长，进入了他吸取生命和琴弦的本质，在波浪和火焰中得到了恰如其分的解决。“就像他那敏捷的灵魂!”他不容许时间慢悠悠的脚步，以如此突兀而迅疾的脚步，匆匆离去，热切地希望伟大的人向他致意:“为什么?”和那里?他对世界的固定方式感到不耐烦，他不能忍受上帝的拖延，但所有的未来将在一天内建立起来，而整个过去将成为废墟，一个空的神殿。虚假的异象!但是那光辉，那火焰，那善良的欲望的激情，那光荣的渴望，使他比许多人在离卑微的目标一百万步的地方爬得更高。 And power is his, if naught besides, In that thin ether where he rides, Above the roar of human tides To ascend afar, Lost in a storm of light that hides His dizzy car. Below, the unhastening world toils on, And here and there are victories won, Some dragon slain, some justice done, While, through the skies, A meteor rushing on the sun, He flares and dies. But, as he cleaves yon ether clear Notes from the unattempted Sphere He scatters to the enchanted ear Of earth's dim throng, Whose dissonance doth more endear The showering song. In other shapes than he forecast The world is moulded: his fierce blast,-- His wild assault upon the Past,-- These things are vain; Revolt is transient: what _must_ last Is that pure strain, Which seems the wandering voices blent Of every virgin element,-- A sound from ocean caverns sent,-- An airy call From the pavilioned firmament O'erdoming all. And in this world of worldlings, where Souls rust in apathy, and ne'er A great emotion shakes the air, And life flags tame, And rare is noble impulse, rare The impassioned aim, 'Tis no mean fortune to have heard A singer who, if errors blurred His sight, had yet a spirit stirred By vast desire, And ardour fledging the swift word With plumes of fire. A creature of impetuous breath, Our torpor deadlier than death He knew not; whatsoe'er he saith Flashes with life: He spurreth men, he quickeneth To splendid strife. And in his gusts of song he brings Wild odours shaken from strange wings, And unfamiliar whisperings From far lips blown, While all the rapturous heart of things Throbs through his own,-- His own that from the burning pyre One who had loved his wind-swept lyre Out of the sharp teeth of the fire Unmolten drew, Beside the sea that in her ire Smote him and slew.