Ode to an Angel Spirit

     In 1839, when Mary and Percy Bysshe Shelley were staying in Italy, they heard the song of a skylark. It was a beautiful summer's eve when they heard it carolling while they were wandering lanes with myrtle hedges--bowers to fireflies, as it was described.
     The poem's beginning is said to cast doubt as to whether it's really a bird, but the poet makes references to it as such. He says to the spirit, that it was never a bird, using the archaic word "wert" as we use were.
     He heard a bird, but whatever was in Shelley's poetic fancy and thought, I've here called to mind an angelic spirit, one tasked to help us, to reach our created and everlasting goal.

     Like the lark that springs up, and quoting Shelley's first lines, I spring from that.

      * * * *

"Hail to thee, Blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert..."
Thou "from Heaven, or near it
Fly down to us on

Thou ar
en't of substance corporeal,
Nor singest
thou not like lark,
nor oriole:
But art, a spirit, an angel being
And seest as the angels seeing.

From a lofty, celestial choir,
Fly down to us from
Down to us, here made of dust,
Here upon the earthen crust.

Aid us on this earthly ground,
Where we were human born.
Help us, be heaven bound,
here awaken some
glorious morn!

By the sin of Adam and Eve,
Was heaven shut
ter'd and grace gone;
the Garden they had to leave
At the race's
distant dawn.

They offended the Infinite One:
God the Father, Spirit and Son;
No longer were things
so well,
In disobeying, they fell

Some of what Adam had,
In his gifted nomenclature,
Are lost to us..and it's sad
For we must contend
           with a fallen nature.

O us assist, I thee implore:
Guide us to God and holy grace.
Bar us from that infernal door,
And lead us to our eternal place.

Carry us with thy plumed wing
Beyond the earthly mire,
To where t
hy kind do sing,
Beyond the moon and stars of fire.

 --John Riedell, with thanks to Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Quoted here is a portion of Shelley's poetic work. I've set in blue
, words and lines I like:

Ode to a Skylark
By Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. (I like this reversal)

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven,
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers
a rain of melody.

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