The Poetry Corner

Fragment: 'When A Lover Clasps His Fairest'.

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

1. When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest. Their caresses were like the chaff In the tempest, and be our laugh His despair - her epitaph! 2. When a mother clasps her child, Watch till dusty Death has piled His cold ashes on the clay; She has loved it many a day - She remains, - it fades away.