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Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Percy Bysshe Shelley
Age: 29 †
Born: 1792
Born: August 4
Died: 1822
Died: July 8
Linguist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Age
Barbarous
Semi
Idol
Idols
Revenge
Naked
Worship

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Sow seed--but let no tyrant reap Find wealth--let no imposter heap Weave robes--let not the idle wear Forge arms--in your defence to bear.
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The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.
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Cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
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The crime of inquiry is one which religion never has forgiven.
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The allegory of Adam and Eve eating of the tree of evil, and entailing upon their posterity the wrath of God and the loss of everlasting life, admits of no other explanation than the disease and crime that have flowed from unnatural diet.
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The most fertile districts of the habitable globe are now actually cultivated by men for animals, at a delay and waste of aliment absolutely incapable of calculation
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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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Sounds of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass
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Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
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I love all waste And solitary places where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
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I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.
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Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
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Yes, marriage is hateful, detestable. A kind of ineffable, sickening disgust seizes my mind when I think of this most despotic, most unrequited fetter which prejudice has forged to confine its energies.
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Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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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Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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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Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present the words which express what they understand not the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
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Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.
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Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.
Percy Bysshe Shelley