Percy Shelley and Emily Dickinson strike me as similar people, led each to his – her – own particular ruin, by the implications of he and she.
Italy stands the other side!
While like a guard between -
The solemn Alps -
The siren Alps
Forever intervene!
...wrote Dickinson, but Shelley could cross the Alps: and little enough luck, for himself or for others, would he find on the far side.
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