Ah， did you once see Shelley plain？"—— Browning.

    "Shelley？ Oh， yes， I saw him often then，"

    The old man said. A dry smile creased¹ his face

    With many wrinkles. "That's a great poem， now！

    That one of Browning's！ Shelley？ Shelley plain？

    The time that I remember best is this ——

    A thin mire² crept along the rutted ways，

    And all the trees were harried³ by cold rain

    That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased，

    Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist

    Over the school. The walks were like blurred⁴ glass.

    The buildings reeked⁵ with vapor⁶， black and harsh

    Against the deepening darkness of the sky；

    And each lamp was a hazy⁷ yellow moon，

    Filling the space about with golden motes⁸，

    And making all things larger than they were.

    One yellow halo hung above a door，

    That gave on a black passage. Round about

    Struggled a howling crowd of boys， pell-mell，

    Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea，

    With shouting faces， turned a pasty white

    By the strange light， for foam⁹. They all had clods，

    Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones.

    And there， his back against the battered¹⁰ door，

    His pile of books scattered¹¹ about his feet，

    Stood Shelley while two others held him fast，

    And the clods beat upon him. `Shelley！ Shelley！'

    The high shouts rang through all the corridors，

    `Shelley！ Mad Shelley！ Come along and help！'

    And all the crowd dug madly at the earth，

    Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud，

    And fouled¹² each other and themselves. And still

    Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame

    Set in some white， still room； for all his face

    Was white， a whiteness like no human color，

    But white and dreadful as consuming fire.

    His hands shook now and then， like slender cords

    Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak.

    So I saw Shelley plain."

    "And you？" I said.

    "I？ I threw straighter than the most of them，

    And had firm clods. I hit him —— well， at least

    Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night."

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