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;
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,
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
Among
rude voices, a beloved light,
A
solitude, a refuge, a delight.
-Percy Byshe Shelley
