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The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Vol. 2 of 3 (Classic Reprint)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Δεν υπάρχει διαθέσιμη προεπισκόπηση - 2017
beautiful beneath blood brain breath bright calm child clear clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight divine dream earth eternal eyes faint fair fear feel fire flame flowers follow gentle grave gray green grew hair hand hear heard heart heaven hope human Italy knew lady land leaves less light lips living looked lost memory mighty mind moon morning mountains move nature never night o'er ocean once pain pale pass past Peter poem rain round seemed shadow shape silent sleep smile soft soon soul sound spirit spring stars strange stream sweet tears thee thine things thou thou art thought Till tower truth turned veil voice wandering waters waves weep wide wild wind wings woods
Σελίδα 278 - WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, 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 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With...
Σελίδα 227 - 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.
Σελίδα 326 - The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.
Σελίδα 280 - 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!
Σελίδα 322 - 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. 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.
Σελίδα 99 - And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble ; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath.
Σελίδα 279 - If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable!
Σελίδα 327 - 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.
Σελίδα 198 - I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown : I sit upon the sands alone, — The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. in Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around...
Σελίδα 279 - The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! — Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 46 The sea-blooms, and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly...