A short, intimate fragment from Shelley, addressed to Emilia Viviani, the young Italian woman he idealized. She has sent him sweet-basil (love) and mignonette (health), flowers that, he notes, can never truly share a wreath. The bouquet arrives damp, and he wonders, half-playfully, if the moisture comes from her kisses or her tears—ordinary rain or dew could never draw out such a scent. That tender uncertainty deepens his sadness, keeping his longing freshly painful. But the mood darkens quickly: he begs her to send only starlight, not love. For him, love has always reduced health to a heap of embers, a glow that soon fades into ash. The speaker’s voice is aching and fragile, caught between adoration and a clear-eyed sense that passion and well-being cannot coexist—a bittersweet rejection wrapped in gratitude.
To Emilia Viviani — Summary
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me Sweet-basil and mignonette? Embleming love and health, which never yet In the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet! Is it with thy kisses or thy tears? For never rain or dew Such fragrance drew From plant or flower--the very doubt endears My sadness ever new, The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.
Send the stars light, but send not love to me, In whom love ever made Health like a heap of embers soon to fade--