Poems from Shelley |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Pàgina 3
The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past - there is a harmony In autumn , and a lustre in its sky , Which thro ' the summer is not heard or seen , As if it could not be , as if it had not been !
The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past - there is a harmony In autumn , and a lustre in its sky , Which thro ' the summer is not heard or seen , As if it could not be , as if it had not been !
Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Frases i termes més freqüents
Adonais beams beautiful beneath birds blue breath bright calm cave clear clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight dream earth eternal eyes faint fair fear feel felt fire fled flowers follow forest gentle golden grave green grew hand hear heart Heaven hope hour human ideal Italy leaves less light lines living look mind moon morning mortal mountains move Nature never night NOTE o'er ocean once pain pale pass passion past poem rain rest rose round seems shadow shapes Shelley Shelley's silent sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound speak spirit Spring stars storm stream sweet swift tears thee thine things thou thou art thought tremble truth veil verse vision voice wandering waters waves weak weep wild wind wings woods young
Passatges populars
Pàgina 311 - 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...
Pàgina 77 - With a sweet emotion ; Nothing in the world is single ; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle...
Pàgina v - I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about...
Pàgina 131 - 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...
Pàgina 151 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it; Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
Pàgina 302 - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men ; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell ; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, ActEeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
Pàgina 143 - 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 noon-day 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.
Pàgina 309 - Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill...
Pàgina 5 - 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 1 - It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance ; Like hues and harmonies of evening, Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like memory of music fled, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
Informació bibliogràfica
| Títol | Poems from Shelley Golden treasury series |
| Autor | Percy Bysshe Shelley |
| Compilat per | Stopford Augustus Brooke |
| Edició | impressió completa |
| Editor | Macmillan, 1880 |
| Original de | Universitat de Harvard |
| Digitalitzat el | 15 Febr. 2008 |
| Nre. de pàgines | 340 pàgines |
| Exporta citacions | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |