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The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley: Including Various ..., Volum 1
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Visualització completa - 1870
bear beauty beneath blood breath bright calm child clouds cold dark dead death deep delight dream earth eternal eyes fair fear feel fire flow flowers follow FRAGMENT gathered gentle give grave green hand happy hear heard heart heaven hope hour human Italy King leaves less light lips living look mighty mind moon morning mortal mountains move nature never night o'er ocean once pain pale pass past peace poem rest rocks round ruin seemed shadow shapes Shelley Shelley's silent slaves sleep smile soft soon soul sound speak spirit spring stars strange stream sweet swift tears thee thine things thou thought throne truth voice wandering waters waves weep Whilst wide wild wind wings woods
Pàgina 527 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is; What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The...
Pàgina 506 - I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed : And on the pedestal these words appear : " My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair !...
Pàgina 430 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given. The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ! Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Pàgina 514 - Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth, The sage in meditation found, And walked with inward glory crowned, — Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround; Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Pàgina 543 - 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.
Pàgina 452 - Oh cease ! must hate and death return ? Cease ! must men kill and die ? Cease ! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy! The world is weary of the past, — Oh might it die or rest at last!
Pàgina 429 - Go thou to Rome, — at once the Paradise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness; And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness, Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread.
Pàgina 429 - Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind.
Pàgina 293 - To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.
Pàgina 429 - And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath.