The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley: Given from His Own Editions and Other Authentic Sources : Collated with Many Manuscripts and with All Editions of Authority : Together with His Prefaces and Notes, His Poetical Translations and Fragments and an Appendix of Juvenilia, Volum 1Reeves & Turner, 1892 |
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Resultats 1 - 5 de 75.
Pàgina lxxiii
... mother , Care , like a drowsy child , Is laid asleep in flowers . And then again this melancholy trace of the sad thronging thoughts , which were the well whence he drew the idea of Athanase , and express the restless , passion ...
... mother , Care , like a drowsy child , Is laid asleep in flowers . And then again this melancholy trace of the sad thronging thoughts , which were the well whence he drew the idea of Athanase , and express the restless , passion ...
Pàgina lxxxvi
... paper the history of those times . The heart of the inan , abhorred of the poet , Who could peep and botanize upon his mother's grave , ] does not appear to me less inexplicably framed than that lxxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES ,
... paper the history of those times . The heart of the inan , abhorred of the poet , Who could peep and botanize upon his mother's grave , ] does not appear to me less inexplicably framed than that lxxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES ,
Pàgina 3
... Mother has imbued my soul With aught of natural piety to feel Your love , and recompense the boon with mine ; If dewy morn , and odorous noon , and even , With sunset and its gorgeous ministers , And solemn midnight's tingling ...
... Mother has imbued my soul With aught of natural piety to feel Your love , and recompense the boon with mine ; If dewy morn , and odorous noon , and even , With sunset and its gorgeous ministers , And solemn midnight's tingling ...
Pàgina 10
... mother's robe In terror at the glare of those wild eyes , To remember their strange light in many a dream Of after - times ; but youthful maidens , taught By nature , would interpret half the woe That wasted him , would call him with ...
... mother's robe In terror at the glare of those wild eyes , To remember their strange light in many a dream Of after - times ; but youthful maidens , taught By nature , would interpret half the woe That wasted him , would call him with ...
Pàgina 25
... mother of all we feel , And the coming of death is a fearful blow To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel ; When all that we know , or feel , or see , Shall pass like an unreal mystery . The secret things of the grave are there ...
... mother of all we feel , And the coming of death is a fearful blow To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel ; When all that we know , or feel , or see , Shall pass like an unreal mystery . The secret things of the grave are there ...
Continguts
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Frases i termes més freqüents
Adonais AHASUERUS art thou beams BEATRICE beautiful beneath BERNARDO blood breath bright calm CAMILLO CENCI child clouds cold Colonna Palace Dæmon dare dark dead death deep delight DEMOGORGON despair doth dream earth evil eyes faint father fear fled flowers gentle GIACOMO grave hair hate hear heard heart Heaven hope human innocent Iona Italy Laon light lips living look LUCRETIA MARZIO mighty mind moon mountains never night nursling o'er ocean OLIMPIO ORSINO pain pale PANTHEA passion Pisa poem poet PROMETHEUS Prometheus Unbound PURGANAX Queen Mab Revolt of Islam Rome round ruin sate SAVELLA SEMICHORUS shadow Shelley Shelley's silent slaves sleep smile soul sound speak spirit stars strange stream sweet SWELLFOOT swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought thro throne truth tyrant voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings words
Passatges populars
Pàgina 426 - 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 447 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Pàgina 449 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there.
Pàgina xcvii - 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 450 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower...
Pàgina 449 - I pass" through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
Pàgina 450 - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Pàgina 444 - 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.
Pàgina xx - On a poet's lips I slept, Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept. Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be : But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality.
Pàgina 451 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.