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It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.

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
Creed
Creeds
Modest
Pleasant
Rest
Death
Considers
Must
Mockery
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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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I love Love - though he has wings, And like light can flee, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee - Thou art love and life! Oh come, Make once more my heart thy home.
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(Title: To the Moon) Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,-- And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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The intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.
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I am convinced that there can be no regeneration of mankind until laughter is put down.
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Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
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O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below?
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Nature rejects the monarch, not the man the subject, not the citizen... The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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A Christian, a Deist, a Turk, and a Jew, have equal rights: they are men and brethren.
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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endurance, These are the seals of that most firm assurance Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength And if, with infirm hand, Eternity, Mother of many acts and hours, should free The serpent that would clasp her with his length These are the spells by which to reassume An empire o'er the disentangled doom.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.
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The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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 Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.
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The Galilean is not a favorite of mine. So far from owing him any thanks for his favor, I cannot avoid confessing that I owe a secret grudge to his carpentership.
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O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance it has injured me.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley