Shelley addresses someone who, alienated from humanity, sought comfort in nature's spirits—the breeze, mountain winds, moonlit seas. They answered at first but then discarded his love like a worthless gift. Turning back to human affection, he found only false smiles that left him broken-hearted. The speaker wonders why he ever trusted the inconstant earth instead of his own mind for love and inspiration. Now those deceptive joys are gone, and his soul, though still loyal to him, has warped into a foul fiend through misery. This ghostly presence clings like a shadow. Chasing it away would just deepen the pain. His only recourse is to accept his dark fate as it is, since any change would aggravate his suffering. The speaker’s tone is compassionate yet bleak, capturing the paralysis that follows deep disillusionment.
To -- — Summary
DAKRTSI DIOISO POTMON 'APOTMON.
Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair As star-beams among twilight trees:-- Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.
And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth:--tame sacrifice To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope On the false earth's inconstancy? Did thine own mind afford no scope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase;--the mad endeavour Would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.