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.