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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Thus suicidal selfishness, that blights The fairest feelings of the opening heart, Is destined to decay, whilst from the soil Shall spring all virtue, all delight, all love, And judgment cease to wage unnatural war With passion's unsubduable array.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother’s hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
If it be proved that the world is ruled by a Divine Power, no inference necessarily can be drawn from that circumstance in favour of a future state.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Cease, cease, wayward Mortal! I dare not unveil The shadows that float o’er Eternity’s vale; Nought waits for the good but a spirit of Love, That will hail their blest advent to regions above. For Love, Mortal, gleams through the gloom of my sway, And the shades which surround me fly fast at its ray.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Love's very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can blast the flower, Even when in most unwary hour It blooms in Fancy’s bower. Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine In which its vermeil splendours shine.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Let there be light! said Liberty, And like sunrise from the sea, Athens arose!
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Dar’st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I weep for Adonais - he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Poor captive bird! Who, from thy narrow cage, Pourest such music, that it might assuage The rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee, Were they not deaf to all sweet melody.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts have their root in Greece.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
And bid them love each other and be blest: And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves, And come and be my guest, - for I am Love's.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Be your strong and simple words Keen to wound as sharpened swords, And wide as targes let them be, With their shade to cover ye.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
Then, what is Life?
Percy Bysshe Shelley -
… they who wore Mitres and helms and crowns, or wreaths of light, Signs of thought's empire over thought -their lore Taught them not this, to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mystery within.
Percy Bysshe Shelley