The Lyrical Poems and Translations of Percy Bysshe ShelleyBrentano's, 1924 - 480 pages |
Contents
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Other editions - View all
The Lyrical Poems and Translations of Percy Bysshe Shelley C H 1853-1931 Herford No preview available - 2018 |
Common terms and phrases
Adonais aethereal Antistrophe Apennine art thou Bacchus Baubo beasts beauty beneath breath bright burning C. H. HERFORD calm cave cavern child Chorus clouds cold Cyclops Cyprian Daemon dark dead dear death deep delight divine dost doth dream earth eternal eyes faint Faust fear fire flame fled flowers FRAGMENT gentle gleam glorious glory golden grave green grief hast hear heart Heaven Hermes hope immortal Jove Justina kiss leaves light lips living lyre Maenalus melody Mephistopheles mighty moon mortal mountains never night nursling o'er ocean Onchestus pale PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY Pylos rocks round Semichorus shadow Shelley Silenus sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit splendour stars stream sweet swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought throne trembling Ulysses veil voice wandering waves weep wert Whilst wild wind wings woods
Popular passages
Page 103 - Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre...
Page 107 - 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: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me — who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart; — As I must on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art!
Page 133 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Page 103 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh, hear!
Page 56 - 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!
Page 250 - 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.
Page 133 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 129 - Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow ; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky : I pass through the pores of the oceail and shores ; I change, but I cannot die.
Page 130 - Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Highe'r still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Page 105 - 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 ! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth...