PASSAGES OF THE POEM, OR CONNECTED THEREWITH. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This is a fragment of a dedicatory poem by Shelley, written for a mysterious friend—most likely Emily, possibly Jane Williams or another close companion.
The poem
Here, my dear friend, is a new book for you; I have already dedicated two To other friends, one female and one male,— What you are, is a thing that I must veil; What can this be to those who praise or rail? _5 I never was attached to that great sect Whose doctrine is that each one should select Out of the world a mistress or a friend, And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend To cold oblivion—though ’tis in the code _10 Of modern morals, and the beaten road Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread Who travel to their home among the dead By the broad highway of the world—and so With one sad friend, and many a jealous foe, _15 The dreariest and the longest journey go. Free love has this, different from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away. Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks Into ten thousand waves, and each one makes _20 A mirror of the moon—like some great glass, Which did distort whatever form might pass, Dashed into fragments by a playful child, Which then reflects its eyes and forehead mild; Giving for one, which it could ne’er express, _25 A thousand images of loveliness. If I were one whom the loud world held wise, I should disdain to quote authorities In commendation of this kind of love:— Why there is first the God in heaven above, _30 Who wrote a book called Nature, ’tis to be Reviewed, I hear, in the next Quarterly; And Socrates, the Jesus Christ of Greece, And Jesus Christ Himself, did never cease To urge all living things to love each other, _35 And to forgive their mutual faults, and smother The Devil of disunion in their souls. ... I love you!—Listen, O embodied Ray Of the great Brightness; I must pass away While you remain, and these light words must be _40 Tokens by which you may remember me. Start not—the thing you are is unbetrayed, If you are human, and if but the shade Of some sublimer spirit... ... And as to friend or mistress, ’tis a form; _45 Perhaps I wish you were one. Some declare You a familiar spirit, as you are; Others with a ... more inhuman Hint that, though not my wife, you are a woman; What is the colour of your eyes and hair? _50 Why, if you were a lady, it were fair The world should know—but, as I am afraid, The Quarterly would bait you if betrayed; And if, as it will be sport to see them stumble Over all sorts of scandals. hear them mumble _55 Their litany of curses—some guess right, And others swear you’re a Hermaphrodite; Like that sweet marble monster of both sexes, Which looks so sweet and gentle that it vexes The very soul that the soul is gone _60 Which lifted from her limbs the veil of stone. ... It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm, A happy and auspicious bird of calm, Which rides o’er life’s ever tumultuous Ocean; A God that broods o’er chaos in commotion; _65 A flower which fresh as Lapland roses are, Lifts its bold head into the world’s frore air, And blooms most radiantly when others die, Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity; And with the light and odour of its bloom, _70 Shining within the dun eon and the tomb; Whose coming is as light and music are ‘Mid dissonance and gloom—a star Which moves not ‘mid the moving heavens alone— A smile among dark frowns—a gentle tone _75 Among rude voices, a beloved light, A solitude, a refuge, a delight. If I had but a friend! Why, I have three Even by my own confession; there may be Some more, for what I know, for ’tis my mind _80 To call my friends all who are wise and kind,- And these, Heaven knows, at best are very few; But none can ever be more dear than you. Why should they be? My muse has lost her wings, Or like a dying swan who soars and sings, _85 I should describe you in heroic style, But as it is, are you not void of guile? A lovely soul, formed to be blessed and bless: A well of sealed and secret happiness; A lute which those whom Love has taught to play _90 Make music on to cheer the roughest day, And enchant sadness till it sleeps?... ... To the oblivion whither I and thou, All loving and all lovely, hasten now With steps, ah, too unequal! may we meet _95 In one Elysium or one winding-sheet! If any should be curious to discover Whether to you I am a friend or lover, Let them read Shakespeare’s sonnets, taking thence A whetstone for their dull intelligence _100 That tears and will not cut, or let them guess How Diotima, the wise prophetess, Instructed the instructor, and why he Rebuked the infant spirit of melody On Agathon’s sweet lips, which as he spoke _105 Was as the lovely star when morn has broke The roof of darkness, in the golden dawn, Half-hidden, and yet beautiful. I’ll pawn My hopes of Heaven-you know what they are worth — That the presumptuous pedagogues of Earth, _110 If they could tell the riddle offered here Would scorn to be, or being to appear What now they seem and are—but let them chide, They have few pleasures in the world beside; Perhaps we should be dull were we not chidden, _115 Paradise fruits are sweetest when forbidden. Folly can season Wisdom, Hatred Love. ... Farewell, if it can be to say farewell To those who ... I will not, as most dedicators do, _120 Assure myself and all the world and you, That you are faultless—would to God they were Who taunt me with your love! I then should wear These heavy chains of life with a light spirit, And would to God I were, or even as near it _125 As you, dear heart. Alas! what are we? Clouds Driven by the wind in warring multitudes, Which rain into the bosom of the earth, And rise again, and in our death and birth, And through our restless life, take as from heaven _130 Hues which are not our own, but which are given, And then withdrawn, and with inconstant glance Flash from the spirit to the countenance. There is a Power, a Love, a Joy, a God Which makes in mortal hearts its brief abode, _135 A Pythian exhalation, which inspires Love, only love—a wind which o’er the wires Of the soul’s giant harp There is a mood which language faints beneath; You feel it striding, as Almighty Death _140 His bloodless steed... ... And what is that most brief and bright delight Which rushes through the touch and through the sight, And stands before the spirit’s inmost throne, A naked Seraph? None hath ever known. _145 Its birth is darkness, and its growth desire; Untameable and fleet and fierce as fire, Not to be touched but to be felt alone, It fills the world with glory-and is gone. ... It floats with rainbow pinions o’er the stream _150 Of life, which flows, like a ... dream Into the light of morning, to the grave As to an ocean... ... What is that joy which serene infancy Perceives not, as the hours content them by, _155 Each in a chain of blossoms, yet enjoys The shapes of this new world, in giant toys Wrought by the busy ... ever new? Remembrance borrows Fancy’s glass, to show These forms more ... sincere _160 Than now they are, than then, perhaps, they were. When everything familiar seemed to be Wonderful, and the immortality Of this great world, which all things must inherit, Was felt as one with the awakening spirit, _165 Unconscious of itself, and of the strange Distinctions which in its proceeding change It feels and knows, and mourns as if each were A desolation... ... Were it not a sweet refuge, Emily, _170 For all those exiles from the dull insane Who vex this pleasant world with pride and pain, For all that band of sister-spirits known To one another by a voiceless tone? ... If day should part us night will mend division _175 And if sleep parts us—we will meet in vision And if life parts us—we will mix in death Yielding our mite [?] of unreluctant breath Death cannot part us—we must meet again In all in nothing in delight in pain: _180 How, why or when or where—it matters not So that we share an undivided lot... ... And we will move possessing and possessed Wherever beauty on the earth’s bare [?] breast Lies like the shadow of thy soul—till we _185 Become one being with the world we see... NOTES: _52-_53 afraid The cj. A.C. Bradley. _54 And as cj. Rossetti, A.C. Bradley. _61 stone... cj. A.C. Bradley. _155 them]trip or troop cj. A.C. Bradley. _157 in]as cj. A.C. Bradley. ***
This is a fragment of a dedicatory poem by Shelley, written for a mysterious friend—most likely Emily, possibly Jane Williams or another close companion. In it, he defends a philosophy of love meant for everyone, not just one individual. He suggests that true love, much like light reflecting across countless waves, grows when shared instead of diminishing. The poem combines admiration for friendship, a celebration of free love, and a heartfelt goodbye, all while cheekily keeping the identity of the addressee a secret.
Line-by-line
Here, my dear friend, is a new book for you; / I have already dedicated two
I never was attached to that great sect / Whose doctrine is that each one should select
Free love has this, different from gold and clay, / That to divide is not to take away.
If I were one whom the loud world held wise, / I should disdain to quote authorities
I love you!—Listen, O embodied Ray / Of the great Brightness; I must pass away
And as to friend or mistress, 'tis a form; / Perhaps I wish you were one.
It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm, / A happy and auspicious bird of calm,
To the oblivion whither I and thou, / All loving and all lovely, hasten now
If any should be curious to discover / Whether to you I am a friend or lover,
I will not, as most dedicators do, / Assure myself and all the world and you,
And what is that most brief and bright delight / Which rushes through the touch and through the sight,
What is that joy which serene infancy / Perceives not, as the hours content them by,
Were it not a sweet refuge, Emily, / For all those exiles from the dull insane
If day should part us night will mend division / And if sleep parts us—we will meet in vision
Tone & mood
The tone varies throughout the fragments, yet a steady warmth remains. In the opening sections, it's witty and a bit combative—Shelley is making a case and clearly relishing the debate. In the middle, it takes on a tender and almost reverent quality when speaking directly to his friend. The reflections on friendship are lyrical and celebratory. As the poem approaches its end, the tone shifts to an elegiac one: Shelley is aware that time is slipping away, and the poem's unfinished nature heightens that sense. All the while, there's a playful resistance to being defined—whether it's regarding the friend's identity, the nature of their relationship, or even the meaning of love.
Symbols & metaphors
- Ocean and waves — The ocean, divided into ten thousand waves reflecting the moon, symbolizes love that grows when shared. Each wave represents a unique relationship, yet they all share the same light. This imagery encapsulates Shelley's main argument against possessive love.
- The shattered mirror — A large glass shattered by a child, with each piece now reflecting a face — this evokes the image of the ocean. What seemed like destruction (breaking the one) actually leads to greater beauty (the many). Shelley suggests that splitting love results in more love, not less.
- Clouds — Humans are like clouds, carried by the wind, taking on colors from the sky that are eventually taken back. This image reflects our fleeting nature and suggests that our greatest qualities — love, joy, beauty — are gifts we experience temporarily rather than possessions we own.
- The naked Seraph — The nameless, indescribable spark of joy that sweeps through the senses and presents itself to the soul. It captures the essence of love or beauty in its purest and most transient form—divine, yet impossible to grasp.
- Lapland rose — A flower that blooms in the frigid air of the Arctic serves as a symbol of friendship. It shows that genuine friendship shines brightest when everything else—health, hope, youth—is fading away.
- Elysium / winding-sheet — Shelley sees paradise and a burial shroud as equally valid destinations, provided that he and his friend reach them together. This combination blurs the boundaries between romantic love, deep friendship, and death, all tied together by a shared desire for connection.
Historical context
Shelley wrote these fragments in the early 1820s, probably as part of a larger work that was never finished or hasn't survived entirely. The poem comes from the same time as *Epipsychidion* (1821), where Shelley delved into similar themes of love, beauty, and the soul while addressing Teresa Viviani. The enigmatic figure named 'Emily' has been suggested by some scholars to be Jane Williams, the wife of Shelley’s close friend Edward Williams, who spent his last months with Shelley before he drowned in the Gulf of Spezia in July 1822. The *Quarterly Review*, mentioned in the poem, was a conservative journal that harshly criticized Keats and frequently attacked Shelley. Shelley's concept of 'free love' was influenced by Plato's *Symposium*—especially Diotima's speech—and his readings of Godwin. The fragments were collected and edited after Shelley’s death, with some conjectural edits made by scholars, including A.C. Bradley.
FAQ
Shelley only mentions the friend by name once, calling her 'Emily' in line 170. Most scholars believe this refers to Jane Williams, the wife of his friend Edward Williams, but there are other possible candidates. Shelley intentionally leaves the identity unclear — partly as a playful choice and partly to shield the individual from negative media attention.
Not promiscuity in the modern tabloid sense. Shelley refers to a love that is neither exclusive nor possessive — a love that can be freely given to many without losing its essence. He argues that love, unlike money, doesn’t get depleted when shared. This viewpoint is grounded in Plato's philosophy and in the political ideas of his father-in-law, William Godwin.
He draws a parallel between two figures known for teaching love and forgiveness, who faced misunderstanding from their societies, and were ultimately killed for their beliefs. This comparison is intentionally provocative in a country where blasphemy laws remain, reflecting Shelley's atheism while also expressing a genuine admiration for the ethical teachings of both figures.
The two poems focus on very similar themes: a mysterious female addressee, a Platonic view of love, imagery of light and reflection, and a feeling of urgency from the poet. *Epipsychidion* was published in 1821 and written for Teresa Viviani. These fragments seem to come from a different, later project with another addressee, yet they feel like companion pieces.
Shelley passed away in July 1822 before he could finish or publish it. What we have now are drafts and fragments put together by editors after his death. The ellipses in the text indicate areas where the manuscript is lost, hard to read, or where editors were unsure how to accurately fill in the gaps.
It captures Shelley's central argument for free love in a visual form. The north wind shatters the ocean into countless waves, with each wave mirroring the moon. One moon, countless reflections — none lessened by the others. Love shared among many people functions similarly: the source remains abundant, and each relationship shines with the same light.
Diotima is the wise woman in Plato's *Symposium* who enlightens Socrates about love — teaching that love is like a ladder, starting from physical beauty and ascending to an appreciation of beauty itself, ultimately reaching the divine. Shelley references her to imply that his bond with his friend exists on this elevated, philosophical plane, beyond the grasp of gossips and critics.
It’s Shelley’s effort to capture the experience of love or beauty at its peak — that startling, powerful rush of emotion that hits us through our senses and touches our souls. He acknowledges that no one has ever fully grasped it: it emerges from darkness, develops through longing, and fades away just as quickly as it appears. The image reflects how love can feel both heavenly and elusive.