The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volume 3

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Reeves and Turner, 1876
 

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Página 350 - Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on — Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily...
Página 364 - Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone ? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate...
Página 101 - My tears ; my heart grew calm ; and I was meek and bold. And from that hour did I with earnest thought Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore : Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught I cared to learn ; but from that secret store Wrought linked armour for my soul, before It might walk forth to war among mankind.
Página 353 - Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair; Underneath Day's azure eyes Ocean's nursling, Venice, lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves. Lo! the sun upsprings behind...
Página 368 - MET a traveller from an antique land Who said : " Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear : 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Página 364 - Why fear and dream and death and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom, why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope...
Página xxxviii - Yet wherefore ? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep ; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend; — oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air ; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
Página 368 - Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed : And on the pedestal these words appear : 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair !
Página 360 - The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower In the windless air...
Página 15 - ... through the intensity and passion of their search after its communities, when the vacancy of their spirit suddenly makes itself felt. All else, selfish, blind, and torpid, are those unforeseeing multitudes who constitute, together with their own, the lasting misery and loneliness of the world. Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave. ' The good die first, And those whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket !

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