There's a regret that from my bosom aye 
 Wrings forth a dirgy sweetness, like a rain 
 Of deathward love; that ever in my brain 
Uttereth such tones as in some foregone way 
Seem gathered from the harmonies that start 
 Into the dayspring, when some rarest view 
 Unveileth its Tempèan grace anew 
To meet the sun?the great world?s fervent heart. 
?Tis that, though living in his tuneful day, 
 My boyhood might not see the gentle smile, 
Nor hear the voice of Shelley; that away 
 His soul had journeyed, ere I might beguile 
In my warm youth, by some fraternal lay, 
 One thought of his towards this may native isle.