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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
Age: 29 †
Born: 1792
Born: August 4
Died: 1822
Died: July 8
Linguist
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Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Sweet
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Sound
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Cheer
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Solitude
Poet
Creativity
Nightingale
Darkness
Nightingales
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
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Death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon.
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Whatever strengthens and purifies the affections, enlarges the imagination, and adds spirit to sense, is useful.
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I am not much of a hand at love songs, you see I mingle metaphysics with even this, but perhaps in this age of Philosophy that may be excused.
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Just a tender sense of my own process, that holds something of my connection with the divine.
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Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
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... a wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss
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He hath awakened from the dream of life.
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I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars are shining bright.
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That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
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Peter was dull he was at first Dull - Oh, so dull - so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed - Still with his dulness was he cursed - Dull -beyond all conception - dull.
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Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
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Woe is me! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the heights of love's rare universe, Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire.
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See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea - What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
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I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
So soon as this want or power [of love] is dead, man becomes the living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what once he was.
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I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Love, from its awful throne of patient power In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep, And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs And folds over the world its healing wings.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
A poet, as he is the author to others of the highest wisdom, pleasure, virtue, and glory, so he ought personally to be the happiest, the best, the wisest, and the most illustrious of men.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
