Here is another long-ish poem by Shelley, his narrative “The Witch of Atlas”. It is written in “ottava rima”, the Italian stanza-form so skilfully used by his friend Byron, and shows a certain Byronic influence in its dexterity and lightness of touch. However, nothing could be less like the comic realism of Byron’s “Beppo” or “Don Juan” than this “visionary rhyme”, as Shelley himself described it in the opening six stanzas, addressed to his wife, Mary: these stanzas, preceded by the dedication “To Mary, on her objecting to the following poem, upon the score of its containing no human interest”, give some idea of what to expect. It is a brilliant work, although often a rather puzzling one. It can perhaps be best understood as a series of reflections, halfway between allegory and sheer fantasy, on the mysteries of the creative spirit. Even if the story may not always be clear in its direction I hope I have brought out its visionary brilliance and the joyous playfulness of its word-music.