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Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay you low?

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
Wherefore
Lords
Lays
Lows
England
Lord
Men
Plough

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But hope will make thee young, for Hope and Youth Are children of one mother, even Love.
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There Is No God. This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co-eternal with the universe remains unshaken.
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He gave man speech, and speech created thought, Which is the measure of the universe.
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The pale stars are gone! For the sun, their swift shepherd, To their folds them compelling, In the depths of the dawn, Hastes, in meteor-eclipsing array, and the flee Beyond his blue dwelling, As fawns flee the leopard.
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A dream has power to poison sleep.
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And many more Destructions played In this ghastly masquerade, All disguised, even to the eyes, Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.
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Contemporary criticism only represents the amount of ignorance genius has to contend with. . . . Time will reverse the judgement of the vulgar.
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A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively he must put himself in the place of another and of many others the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.
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Fate,Time,Occasion,Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
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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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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
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And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
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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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Chastity is a monkish and evangelical superstition, a greater foe to natural temperance even than unintellectual sensuality it strikes at the root of all domestic happiness, and consigns more than half of the human race to misery.
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When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed.
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Image of rugged cliffs And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
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My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!
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Where is perfection? Where I cannot reach.
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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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