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Ere Babylon was dust, The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden, That apparition, sole of men, he saw.

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
Walking
Apparitions
Dead
Babylon
Child
Sole
Children
Dust
Men
Mets
Image
Garden
Magus
Saws
Apparition

More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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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.
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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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I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. You with the unpaid bill, Despair, You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, I will pay you in the grave, Death will listen to your stave.
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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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All love is sweet, given or received.
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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
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The One remains, the many change and pass Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
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Fate,Time,Occasion,Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
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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 great secret of morals is Love or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own.
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The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.
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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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Thy words are like a cloud of winged snakes.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
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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!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world That the pale name of priest might shrink and dwindle Into the Hell from which it first was furled.
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As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the Sea, And with great power it forth led me To walk in the visions of Poesy.
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.
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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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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley