Posthumous Poems of Percy Bysshe ShelleyThis 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. |
From inside the book
Results 6-10 of 24
Page 116
... turn his hungry sword upon the wearer , A new Acteon's error Shall their's have been - devoured by their own hounds ! Be thou like the imperial Basilisk Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds ! Gaze on oppression , till at that dread ...
... turn his hungry sword upon the wearer , A new Acteon's error Shall their's have been - devoured by their own hounds ! Be thou like the imperial Basilisk Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds ! Gaze on oppression , till at that dread ...
Page 139
... turns the gazer's spirit into stone ; Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are till the characters be grown graven , Into itself , and thought no more can trace ; ' Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the ...
... turns the gazer's spirit into stone ; Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are till the characters be grown graven , Into itself , and thought no more can trace ; ' Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the ...
Page 143
... turn ! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie , Even though the sounds which were thy voice , which burn Between thy lips , are laid to sleep ; Within thy breath , and on thy hair , like odour it is yet , And from thy touch like ...
... turn ! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie , Even though the sounds which were thy voice , which burn Between thy lips , are laid to sleep ; Within thy breath , and on thy hair , like odour it is yet , And from thy touch like ...
Page 212
... can live if thou appear Aught but thyself , or turn thine heart Away from me , or stoop to wear The mask of scorn , although it be To hide the love thou feel for me . THE ISLE . THERE was a little lawny islet By 212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS .
... can live if thou appear Aught but thyself , or turn thine heart Away from me , or stoop to wear The mask of scorn , although it be To hide the love thou feel for me . THE ISLE . THERE was a little lawny islet By 212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS .
Page 237
... turns , Like morning from the shadow of the night , The night to day , and London to a place Of peace and joy ? SECOND SPEAKER . And Hell to Heaven , Eight years are gone , And they seem hours , since in this populous street I trod on ...
... turns , Like morning from the shadow of the night , The night to day , and London to a place Of peace and joy ? SECOND SPEAKER . And Hell to Heaven , Eight years are gone , And they seem hours , since in this populous street I trod on ...
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
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
Popular passages
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 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.
Page 23 - Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Page 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
Page 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...
Page 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...
Page 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?