Richard Sanders . 07527771914
He is made one with Nature by Percy Bysshe Shelley
​
(often just the first verse of this poem is used for funeral services.)  
He is made one with Nature: there is heard 
His voice in all her music, from the moan 
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; 
He is a presence to be felt and known 
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, 
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move 
Which has withdrawn His being to its own; 
Which wields the world with never-wearied love, 
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. 


He is a portion of the loveliness 
Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear 
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress 
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there 
All new successions to the forms they wear; 
Torturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight 
To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; 
And bursting in its beauty and its might, 
From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light. 

The splendors of the firmament of time 
May be eclipsed but are extinguished not; 
Like stars to their appointed height they climb, 
And death is a low mist which cannot blot 
The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought 
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, 
And love and life contend for it, for what 
Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there 
And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. 

The One remains, the many change and pass; 
Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; 
Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, 
Stains the white radiance of Eternity, 
Until Death tramples it to fragments.--Die, 
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! 
Follow where all is fled!--Rome's azure sky, 
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak 
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. 

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, 
That Beauty in which all things work and move, 
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse 
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love 
Which through the web of being blindly wove 
By man and beast and earth and air and sea, 
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of 
The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, 
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality 

The breath whose might I have invoked in song 
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, 
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng 
Whose sails were never to the tempest given; 
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! 
I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; 
Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven 
The soul of Adonais, like a star, 
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.