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That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.

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
Night
Maiden
Maidens
Laden
Mortals
Moon
Fire
Call
White

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O'er Egypt's land of memory floods are level, And they are thine, O Nile! and well thou knowest The soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil, And fruits, and poisons spring where'er thou flowest.
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A dream has power to poison sleep.
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All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
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But Greece and her foundations are Built below the tide of war, Based on the crystalline sea Of thought and its eternity Her citizens, imperial spirits, Rule the present from the past, On all this world of men inherits Their seal is set.
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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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Sing again, with your dear voice revealing. A tone Of some world far from ours, where music and moonlight and feeling are one.
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He hath awakened from the dream of life.
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Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
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It is true that the reluctance to abstain from animal food, in those who have been long accustomed to its stimulus, is so great in some persons of weak minds, as to be scarcely overcome but this is far from bringing any argument in its favour
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For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower Radiance and odour are not its dower It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful.
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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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Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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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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His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
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Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
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It is easier to suppose that the universe has existed for all eternity than to conceive a being beyond its limits capable of creating it.
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Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend, Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, And heaven with slaves!
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The same means that have supported every other popular belief have supported Christianity. War, imprisonment, and falsehood deeds of unexampled and incomparable atrocity have made it what it is.
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February... Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains.
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