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Elective English–I




                 Notes          The Poem

                                14.2   Ode to the West Wind

                                O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being—

                                Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
                                Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
                                Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
                                Pestilence-stricken multitudes!—O thou                                        5

                                Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
                                The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
                                Each like a corpse within its grave, until
                                Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
                                Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill                                10
                                (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

                                With living hues and odours plain and hill—
                                Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere—
                                Destroyer and Preserver—hear, O hear!
                                Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,                        15

                                Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
                                Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
                                Angels of rain and lightning! they are spread
                                On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
                                Like the bright hair uplifted from the head                                  20
                                Of some fierce Mænad, ev’n from the dim verge

                                Of the horizon to the zenith’s height—
                                The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
                                Of the dying year, to which this closing night
                                Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,                                        25

                                Vaulted with all thy congregated might
                                Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
                                Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst:—O hear!
                                Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams
                                The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,                                        30
                                Lull’d by the coil of his crystalline streams,

                                Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay,
                                And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
                                Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,



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