Posthumous Poems of Percy Bysshe ShelleyJohn and Henry L. Hunt, 1824 - 415 pàgines This volume was published just two years after Shelley's death. It collects some of his final poems, including unfinished works. Shelley's wife, Mary, was responsible for assembling the collection, and she also provides a revealing introduction. |
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Pàgina v
... beautiful and affecting " Lines , written in dejection at Naples , " were composed at such an interval ; but when in health , his spirits were buoyant and youthful to an extraordinary degree . Such was his love for nature , that every ...
... beautiful and affecting " Lines , written in dejection at Naples , " were composed at such an interval ; but when in health , his spirits were buoyant and youthful to an extraordinary degree . Such was his love for nature , that every ...
Pàgina 7
... beautiful is sunset , when the glow Of heaven descends upon a land like thee , Thou paradise of exiles , Italy ! Thy mountains , seas , and vineyards , and the towers Of cities they encircle ! -It was ours To stand on thee , beholding ...
... beautiful is sunset , when the glow Of heaven descends upon a land like thee , Thou paradise of exiles , Italy ! Thy mountains , seas , and vineyards , and the towers Of cities they encircle ! -It was ours To stand on thee , beholding ...
Pàgina 14
... beautiful for health , and grief Smiled in their motions as they lay apart , As one who wrought from his own fervid heart The eloquence of passion : soon he raised His sad meek face , and eyes lustrous and glazed , And spoke ...
... beautiful for health , and grief Smiled in their motions as they lay apart , As one who wrought from his own fervid heart The eloquence of passion : soon he raised His sad meek face , and eyes lustrous and glazed , And spoke ...
Pàgina 32
... beautiful a birth ; — Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth . XI . The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came , And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant— These spirits shook within them , as a flame Stirred by the air under a ...
... beautiful a birth ; — Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth . XI . The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came , And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant— These spirits shook within them , as a flame Stirred by the air under a ...
Pàgina 33
Percy Bysshe Shelley Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. XII . For she was beautiful : her beauty made The bright world dim , and every thing beside Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade : No thought of living spirit could abide , Which to ...
Percy Bysshe Shelley Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. XII . For she was beautiful : her beauty made The bright world dim , and every thing beside Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade : No thought of living spirit could abide , Which to ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Frases i termes més freqüents
Anarchs ANTISTROPHE Apennine art thou Baubo beams beast beauty beneath breath bright burning calm cave cavern chasm chidden CHORUS clouds cold CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dance dark dead death deep delight DEMON desart divine dream earth EPODE eyes faint FAUST fear fierce fire fled flowers folded palm forest gaze gentle gleam green grew grey grief hair hear heart heaven Hermes JUSTINA kiss Lady leaves light lips living love waves Maddalo MEPHISTOPHELES mighty MONT BLANC moon mortal mountains move NAPLES never night o'er ocean Onchestus pale pine Pisa Pylos rocks round sate Satyr seemed shadows shapes shore SILENUS sleep smile snow soft song soul sound spirit stars strange stream sweet swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought ULYSSES vale veil voice wake wandering waves weep Whilst wild wild arms wind wings woods
Passatges populars
Pàgina 195 - Its passions will rock thee, As the storms rock the ravens on high ; Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.
Pàgina 194 - WHEN the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead — When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
Pàgina 165 - 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 285 - The windings of the dell. — The rivulet, Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine Beneath the forest flowed. Sometimes it fell Among the moss, with hollow harmony Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones It danced ; like childhood, laughing as it went : Then, through the plain in tranquil wanderings crept, Reflecting every herb and drooping bud \ That overhung its quietness.
Pàgina 276 - While day-light held The sky, the Poet kept mute conference With his still soul. At night the passion came, Like the fierce fiend of a distempered dream, And shook him from his rest, and led him forth Into the darkness.
Pàgina 23 - Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Pàgina 81 - The great, the unforgotten, — they who wore Mitres and helms and crowns, or wreaths of light, Signs of thought's empire over thought. Their lore "Taught them not this, to know themselves ; their might Could not repress the mystery within ; And, for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night
Pàgina 274 - His languid limbs. A vision on his sleep There came, a dream of hopes that never yet Had flushed his cheek. He dreamed a veiled maid Sate near him, talking in low solemn tones. Her voice was like the voice of his own soul Heard in the calm of thought...
Pàgina 8 - Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen Those mountains towering as from waves of flame Around the vaporous sun, from which there came The inmost purple spirit of light, and made Their very peaks transparent 'Ere it fade,' Said my companion, 'I will show you soon A better station...
Pàgina 263 - To the Moon Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, — And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?