" Of some of it I
shall now tell you a little.
Very early Shelley began to publish poetry, but most of it was
not worthy of a truly great poet. His first really fine poem is
Alastor. It is written in blank verse, and represents a poet
seeking in vain for his ideal of what is truly lovely and
beautiful. Being unable to find that which he seeks, he dies.
The poem is full of beautiful description, but it is sad, and in
the picture of the poet we seem to see Shelley himself. Other
long poems followed, poems which are both terrible and beautiful,
but many years must pass before you try to read them. For
Shelley's poetry is more vague, his meaning more elusive, than
that of almost any other poet of whom we have spoken. It is
rather for Shelley's shorter poems, his lyrics, that I would try
to gain your love at present, for although he wrote The Cenci,
the best tragedy of his time, a tragedy which by its terror and
pain links him with Shakespeare, it is as a lyric poet that we
love Shelley. "Here," says another poet,* "Shelley forgets that
he is anything but a poet, forgets sometimes that he is anything
but a child.
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