Fragment: When A Lover Clasps His Fairest

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition.]



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!                                            _5
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.                                         _10