O weep for Adonis - He is dead." "Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Through the sunset of hope, Like the shapes of a dream, What paradise islands of glory gleam! — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me- who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet! — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
And many an ante-natal tomb Where butterflies dream of the life to come. — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
“Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - He hath awakened from the dream of life” — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight,… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
It is our will That thus enchains us to permitted ill. We might be otherwise, we might be all We dream of… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth's dark… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind; Through desert woods and tracts, which seem Like ocean,… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - he hath awakened from the dream of life - 'Tis we,… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
“We rest; A dream has power to poison sleep. We rise; One wandering thought pollutes the day. We feel, conceive, or reason;… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; Over earth and ocean,… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share Image
The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
“Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine, Yet let's be merry; we'll have tea and toast; Custards for supper, and an endless… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
Titles are tinsel, power a corrupter, glorya bubble, and excessive wealth a libel on its possessor. — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
“Poets and philosophers are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing? — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone?… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
The practice of utter sincerity towards other men would avail to no good end, if they were incapable of practising it towards their own… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality. — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
Senseless is the breast and cold Which relenting love would fold; Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of pain did fill;… — Percy Bysshe Shelley Copy Share
