Wordsworthprobablylearned，whatShelleywasincapableoflearning，thatlovecanneverpermanentlybeafountain。Alivingpoet，inanarticle{6}whichyoualmostfeartobreatheuponlestyoushouldfluttersomeofthefrailpastel—likebloom，hassaidthething:
　　"Loveitselfhastidalmoments，lapsesandflowsduetothemetricalruleoftheinteriorheart。"Elementaryreasonshouldproclaimthistrue。Loveisanaffection，itsdisplayanemotion:loveistheair，itsdisplayisthewind。Anaffectionmaybeconstant;anemotioncannomorebeconstantthanthewindcanconstantlyblow。
　　All，therefore，thatamancanreasonablyaskofhiswifeisthatherloveshouldbeindeedawell。Awell;butaBethesda—well，intowhichfromtimetotimetheangeloftendernessdescendstotroublethewatersforthehealingofthebeloved。SuchaloveShelley'ssecondwifeappearsunquestionablytohavegivenhim。Nay，shewascontentthatheshouldveerwhilesheremainedtrue;shecompanionedhimintellectually，sharedhisviews，enteredintohisaspirations，andyet—yet，evenatthedateofEpipsychidionthefoolishchild，herhusband，assignedherthepartofmoontoEmiliaViviani'ssun，andlamentedthathewasbarredfromfinal，certain，irreversiblehappinessbyacoldandcalloussociety。Yetfewpoetsweresomatedbefore，andnopoetwassomatedafterwards，untilBrowningstoopedandpickedupafair—coinedsoulthatlayrustinginapooloftears。
　　Intruth，hisveryunhappinessanddiscontentwithlife，insofarasitwasnottheinevitablepenaltyoftheethicalanarch，canonlybeascribedtothissamechildlikeirrationality—thoughinsuchaformitisirrationalityhardlypeculiartoShelley。Pity，ifyouwill，hisspiritualruinsandtheneglectedearlytrainingwhichwaslargelytheircause;butthepityduetohisoutwardcircumstanceshasbeenstrangelyexaggerated。Theobloquyfromwhichhesufferedhedeliberatelyandwantonlycourted。Fortherest，hislotwasonethatmanyayoungpoetmightenvy。Hehadfaithfulfriends，afaithfulwife，anincomesmallbutassured。Povertyneverdictatedtohispen;thedesignsonhisbrightimaginationwereneveretchedbythesharpfumesofnecessity。
　　If，ashaschancedtoothers—aschanced，forexample，toMangan—
　　outcastfromhome，healthandhope，withacharredpastandablearedfuture，ananchoritewithoutdetachmentandself—cloisteredwithoutself—sufficingness，deposedfromaworldwhichhehadnotabdicated，piercedwiththornswhichformednocrown，apoethopelessofthebaysandamartyrhopelessofthepalm，alandcursedagainstthedewsoflove，anexilebannedandproscribedevenfromtheinnocentarmsofchildhood—hewereburninghelplessatthestakeofhisunquenchableheart，thenhemighthavebeeninconsolable，thenmighthehavecastthegorgeatlife，thenhavecoweredinthedarkeningchamberofhisbeing，tapestriedwithmoulderinghopes，andhearkenedtothewindsthatsweptacrosstheillimitablewastesofdeath。ButnosuchhaplesslotwasShelley'sasthatofhisowncontemporaries—Keats，halfchewedinthejawsofLondonandspitdyingontoItaly;deQuincey，who，ifheescaped，escapedrentandmaimedfromthosecrueljaws;Coleridge，whomtheydullymumbledforthemajorportionofhislife。Shelleyhadcompetence，poetry，love;yethewailedthathecouldliedownlikeatiredchildandweepawayhislifeofcare。Isiteversowithyou，sadbrother;isiteversowithme？andistherenodrinkingofpearlsexcepttheybedissolvedinbitingtears？"Whichofushashisdesire，orhavingitissatisfied？"
　　Itistruethathesharedthefateofnearlyallthegreatpoetscontemporarywithhim，inbeingunappreciated。Likethem，hesufferedfromcriticswhowereforevershearingthewildtressesofpoetrybetweenrustyrules，whocouldneverseealiteraryboughprojectbeyondthetrimlevelofitsdaybuttheymustlopitwithacrookedcriticism，whokeptindomitablyplantinginthedefileoffamethe"establishedcanons"thathadbeenspikedbypoetafterpoet。ButwedeclinetobelievethatasingerofShelley'scalibrecouldbeseriouslygrievedbywantofvogue。Notthatwesupposehimtohavefoundconsolationinthatsenselesssuperstition，"theapplauseofposterity。"Posterity！posteritywhichgoestoRome，weepslarge—sizedtears，carvesbeautifulinscriptionsoverthetombofKeats;andthewormmustwrigglehercurtseytoitall，sincethedeadboy，whereverhebe，hasquiteothergeartotend。Neverabonelessdryforallthetears！
　　Apoetmusttosomeextentbeachameleonandfeedonair。Butitneednotbethemustybreathofthemultitude。Hecanfindhisneedfulsupportinthejudgementofthosewhosejudgementheknowsvaluable，andsuchsupportShelleyhad:
　　LagloireNecomptepastoujourslesvoix;
　　Ellelespesequelquefois。
　　Yetifthismightbeneedfultohimassupport，neitherthis，northeapplauseofthepresent，northeapplauseofposterity，couldhavebeenneedfultohimasmotive:theoneall—sufficingmotiveforagreatpoet'ssingingisthatexpressedbyKeats:
　　IwastaughtinParadiseToeasemybreastofmelodies。
　　Preciselyso。Theoverchargedbreastcanfindnoeasebutinsucklingthebaby—song。Noenmityofoutwardcircumstances，therefore，buthisownnature，wasresponsibleforShelley'sdoom。
　　Abeingwithsomuchaboutitofchildlikeunreasonableness，andyetwithalsomuchofthebeautifulattractionluminousinachild'ssweetunreasonableness，wouldseemfore—fatedbyitsveryessencetothetransienceofthebubbleandtherainbow，ofallthingsfilmyandfair。Didsomeshadowofthisdestinybearpartinhissadness？
　　Certainitisthat，byacuriouschance，hehimselfinJulianandMaddalojestinglyforetoldthemannerofhisend。"Oho！Youtalkasinyearspast，"saidMaddalo（Byron）toJulian（Shelley）;"Ifyoucan'tswim，BewareofProvidence。"Didnounearthlydixistisoundinhisearsashewroteit？Butabriefwhile，andShelley，whocouldnotswim，waswelteringonthewatersofLerici。Weknownothowthismayaffectothers，butoverusitisacoincidencewhichhaslongtyrannisedwithanabsorbinginveteracyofimpression（strengthenedratherthandiminishedbythecontrastbetweenthelevityoftheutteranceanditsfatalfulfilment）—thustobehold，heraldingitselfinwarningmockerythroughtheverylipsofitspredestinedvictim，theDoomuponwhosebreathhislockswereliftingalongthecoastsofCampania。Thedeathwhichhehadprophesiedcameuponhim，andSpezziaenrolledanothernameamongthemournfulMarcelliofourtongue;Venetianglasseswhichfoamedandburstbeforethepoisonedwineoflifehadrisentotheirbrims。
　　ComingtoShelley'spoetry，wepeepoverthewildmaskofrevolutionarymetaphysics，andweseethewinsomefaceofthechild。
　　PerhapsnoneofhispoemsismorepurelyandtypicallyShelleianthanTheCloud，anditisinterestingtonotehowessentiallyitspringsfromthefacultyofmake—believe。Thesamethingisconspicuous，thoughlesspurelyconspicuous，throughouthissinging;
　　itisthechild'sfacultyofmake—believeraisedtothenthpower。
　　Heisstillatplay，saveonlythathisplayissuchasmanhoodstopstowatch，andhisplaythingsarethosewhichthegodsgivetheirchildren。Theuniverseishisboxoftoys。Hedabbleshisfingersintheday—fall。Heisgold—dustywithtumblingamidstthestars。Hemakesbrightmischiefwiththemoon。Themeteorsnuzzletheirnosesinhishand。Heteasesintogrowlingthekennelledthunder，andlaughsattheshakingofitsfierychain。Hedancesinandoutofthegatesofheaven:itsfloorislitteredwithhisbrokenfancies。Herunswildoverthefieldsofether。Hechasestherollingworld。Hegetsbetweenthefeetofthehorsesofthesun。HestandsinthelapofpatientNatureandtwinesherloosenedtressesafterahundredwilfulfashions，toseehowshewilllooknicestinhissong。