The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volum 4

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Little, Brown, 1866
 

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Pàgina 99 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Pàgina 94 - His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear...
Pàgina 94 - 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: He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Pàgina 101 - I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee ! Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!
Pàgina 95 - And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. " Thou art become as one of us," they cry, " It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!
Pàgina 98 - That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Pàgina 133 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright...
Pàgina 84 - As Albion wails for thee : the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest 1 XYIII.
Pàgina 133 - O World! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before, — When will return the glory of your prime ? No more — oh never more...
Pàgina 79 - In which suns perished. Others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or god, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime ; And some yet live, treading the thorny road Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. VI. But now thy youngest, dearest one has perished, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, And fed with true-love tears instead of dew.

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