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The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
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
Anarchy
Driven
Rich
Scylla
State
Charybdis
Poor
Poorer
Become
Despotism
States
Richer
Vessel
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
He hath awakened from the dream of life.
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I have drunken deep of joy.
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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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Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing?
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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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Sow seed--but let no tyrant reap Find wealth--let no imposter heap Weave robes--let not the idle wear Forge arms--in your defence to bear.
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How beautiful is sunset when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
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Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.
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By all that is sacred in our hope for the human race, I conjure those who love happiness and truth to give a fair trial to the vegetable system!
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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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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
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I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.
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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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The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.
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I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
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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.
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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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Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
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The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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