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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Side xcii
... ruin . He had , and this to the Italians had seemed a glaring symptom of very decided madness , rooted up the olives on the hill side , and planted forest trees ; these were mostly young , but the plantation was more in English taste ...
... ruin . He had , and this to the Italians had seemed a glaring symptom of very decided madness , rooted up the olives on the hill side , and planted forest trees ; these were mostly young , but the plantation was more in English taste ...
Side 2
... ruin . But that Power which strikes the luminaries of the world with sudden darkness and extinction , by awakening them to too exquisite a perception of its influences , dooms to a slow and poisonous decay those meaner spirits that dare ...
... ruin . But that Power which strikes the luminaries of the world with sudden darkness and extinction , by awakening them to too exquisite a perception of its influences , dooms to a slow and poisonous decay those meaner spirits that dare ...
Side 19
... Ruin calls His brother Death . A rare and regal prey He hath prepared , prowling around the world ; Glutted with which thou mayst repose , and men Go to their graves like flowers or creeping worms , Nor ever more offer at thy dark ...
... Ruin calls His brother Death . A rare and regal prey He hath prepared , prowling around the world ; Glutted with which thou mayst repose , and men Go to their graves like flowers or creeping worms , Nor ever more offer at thy dark ...
Side 30
... is as fair as marble clothed In light of some sublimest mind , decay ? Nor putrefaction's breath Leave aught of this pure spectacle 10 15 But loathsomeness and ruin ? — Spare aught but a 30 POEMS PUBLISHED WITH ALASTOR , 1816 .
... is as fair as marble clothed In light of some sublimest mind , decay ? Nor putrefaction's breath Leave aught of this pure spectacle 10 15 But loathsomeness and ruin ? — Spare aught but a 30 POEMS PUBLISHED WITH ALASTOR , 1816 .
Side 31
... ruin ? — Spare aught but a dark theme , On which the lightest heart might moralize ? Or is it but that downy - wingèd slumbers Have charmed their nurse coy Silence near her lids To watch their own repose ? Will they , when morning's ...
... ruin ? — Spare aught but a dark theme , On which the lightest heart might moralize ? Or is it but that downy - wingèd slumbers Have charmed their nurse coy Silence near her lids To watch their own repose ? Will they , when morning's ...
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
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
Populære avsnitt
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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...
Side 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.
Side 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...
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.