The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volume 3Little, Brown, 1855 |
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Page 33
... Waking or asleep , Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream , Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? XVIII . We look before and after , And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter ...
... Waking or asleep , Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream , Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? XVIII . We look before and after , And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter ...
Page 61
... wake of light that stains The Tuscan deep , when from the moist moon rains The inmost shower of its white fire - the breeze Is still - blue heaven smiles over the pale seas . And in this bowl of quicksilver - for I Yield to the impulse ...
... wake of light that stains The Tuscan deep , when from the moist moon rains The inmost shower of its white fire - the breeze Is still - blue heaven smiles over the pale seas . And in this bowl of quicksilver - for I Yield to the impulse ...
Page 93
... wakes Of those huge forms : —within the brazen doors Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast , Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast . LIX . And where within the surface of the river The shadows of the massy temples lie ...
... wakes Of those huge forms : —within the brazen doors Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast , Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast . LIX . And where within the surface of the river The shadows of the massy temples lie ...
Page 97
... the brain Of those who were less beautiful , and make All harsh and crooked purposes more vain Than in the desert is the serpent's wake VOL . III . 7 Which the sand covers , -all his evil gain The THE WITCH OF ATLAS . 97.
... the brain Of those who were less beautiful , and make All harsh and crooked purposes more vain Than in the desert is the serpent's wake VOL . III . 7 Which the sand covers , -all his evil gain The THE WITCH OF ATLAS . 97.
Page 150
... Wake , melancholy Mother , wake and weep ! Yet wherefore ? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears , and let thy loud heart keep , Like his , a mute and uncomplaining sleep ; For he is gone , where all things wise and fair ...
... Wake , melancholy Mother , wake and weep ! Yet wherefore ? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears , and let thy loud heart keep , Like his , a mute and uncomplaining sleep ; For he is gone , where all things wise and fair ...
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Common terms and phrases
Adonais ANTISTROPHE art thou Baubo Bay of Spezia beams beast beautiful beneath boat bowers breath bright burning calm cave cavern chidden CHORUS clouds cold cradle CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dance dark dead dear death deep delight DEMON divine dream earth eternal eyes faint fair FAUST fear fire flame transformed fled flowers gentle glorious golden gray green heart heaven Hermes immortal Jove JUSTINA kiss leaves LEIGH HUNT Lerici light living MEPHISTOPHELES mighty moon mortal mountain never night o'er ocean odour Onchestus pale Pisa rain rocks round Serchio shadow Shelley shore SILENUS singing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit splendour stars stream sweet swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought throne thunder trembling ULYSSES veil Via Reggio voice wake wandering waves weep Whilst Widener Library wild wind wings Witch
Popular passages
Page 166 - He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Page 32 - 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 : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view : XI.
Page 170 - The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Page 173 - I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee ! Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!
Page 29 - I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky ; 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.
Page 167 - And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. " Thou art become as one of us," they cry, " It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!
Page 25 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Page 165 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Page 27 - I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Page 31 - 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...