The Question

A poetic journey through nature’s beauty, transformation, and life’s unanswered questions.

Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring

Short Poems & Quotes  |   Poems About The Seasons  |   Spring Poems  |   The Question

Updated February 8, 2025, by Catherine Pulsifer

Shelley’s poem, The Question, is a beautiful reflection on change, nature, and purpose. Through vivid imagery, he takes us on a journey where the cold of winter transforms into the warmth of spring. As nature comes alive, the speaker finds joy in its beauty, gathering a bouquet of flowers. But with this joy comes a question left unanswered—one that invites us to think about the meaning behind our actions and the gifts we offer.

Let this poem remind us to appreciate life’s changing seasons and the quiet mysteries they bring.


The Question

Poet: Percy Bysske Shelley

I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring,
And gentle odors led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.

There grew pied windflowers and violets,
Daisies those pearled Arcturi of the earth.
The constellated flower that never sets;
Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets
Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears,
When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green cowbind and the moonlight coloured May,
And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine
Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day;
And wild roses, and ivy serpentine.
With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;
And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,
Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.

And nearer to the river's trembling edge
There grew broad flag-flowers,purple prankt with white.
And starry river buds among the sedge.
And floating water-lilies broad and bright,
Which lit the oak that over hung the hedge
With moonlight-beams of their own watery light;
And bulrushes and reeds of such deep green
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

Methought that of these visionary flowers
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way
That the same hues, which in their natural bowers
Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours
Within my hand — and then, elate and gay,
I hastened to the spot whence I had come,
That I might there present it! — O! to whom?



Key Messages from this poem:



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