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Image of rugged cliffs And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

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
Thoughts
Shall
Gone
Art
Rugged
Love
Slumber
Cliffs
Thou
Image

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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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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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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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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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I am convinced that there can be no regeneration of mankind until laughter is put down.
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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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Peter was dull he was at first Dull - Oh, so dull - so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed - Still with his dulness was he cursed - Dull -beyond all conception - dull.
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Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
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Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
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Jealousy's eyes are green.
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The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.
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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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Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
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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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Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief.
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It is found easier, by the short-sighted victims of disease, to palliate their torments by medicine, than to prevent them by regimen
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Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
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This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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This, and no other, is justice: — to consider, under all the circumstances and consequences of a particular case, how the greatest quantity and purest quality of happiness will ensue from any action ... there is no other justice.
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I consider poetry very subordinate to moral and political science.
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