Shelley’s Vision

Wandering late by morning seas

  When my heart with pain was low—

Hate the censor pelted me—

  Deject I saw my shadow go.



In elf-caprice of bitter tone

I too would pelt the pelted one:

At my shadow I cast a stone.



When lo, upon that sun-lit ground

  I saw the quivering phantom take

The likeness of St. Stephen crowned:

  Then did self-reverence awake.