it were enough to feel, to see Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest

When passion's trance is overpast, 

If tenderness and truth could last 

Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep 

Some mortal slumber, dark and deep, 

I should not weep, I should not weep! 

 

It were enough to feel, to see 

Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, 

And dream the rest—and burn and be 

The secret food of fires unseen, 

Could thou but be what thou hast been. 

 

After the slumber of the year 

The woodland violets reappear; 

All things revive in field or grove 

And sky and sea, but two, which move 

And form all others—life and love. 

 

Listen to it here

 

[Percy Bysshe Shelley {1792-1822} 'When passion's trance is overpast', from Shelley, in Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets]