Poems by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sorted by title, showing title and first line
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DEATH:
Rough wind, that moanest loud
Silver key of the fountain of tears,
A hater he came and sat by a ditch,
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The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
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'Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail
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I weep for Adonais - he is dead!
Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood!
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Chameleons feed on light and air:
Arise, arise, arise!
No, Music, thou art not the 'food of Love.'
BOYS SING:
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There is a voice, not understood by all,
Within a cavern of man's trackless spirit
From the cities where from caves,
Gather, O gather,
DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
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Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
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FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
FROM THE GREEK.
FROM THE GREEK.
Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one,
These are two friends whose lives were undivided;
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Night, with all thine eyes look down!
O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line
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How eloquent are eyes!
I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
The season was the childhood of sweet June,
The Elements respect their Maker's seal!
A shovel of his ashes took
If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains,
Where man's profane and tainting hand
Ever as now with Love and Virtue's glow
FROM THE GREEK OF BION.
From The Greek Of Moschus.
ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED -
'Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling,
Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
What Mary is when she a little smiles
Wealth and dominion fade into the mass
To thirst and find no fill - to wail and wander
A gentle story of two lovers young,
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal
Follow to the deep wood's weeds,
Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
I faint, I perish with my love! I grow
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
I would not be a king - enough
Is it that in some brighter sphere
Methought I was a billow in the crowd
My head is wild with weeping for a grief
O thou immortal deity
Such hope, as is the sick despair of good,
The death knell is ringing
The rude wind is singing
The viewless and invisible Consequence
Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun,
Wake the serpent not - lest he
What men gain fairly - that they should possess,
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When soft winds and sunny skies
Ye gentle visitations of calm thought -
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His face was like a snake's - wrinkled and loose
One sung of thee who left the tale untold,
He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,
Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou
Thy beauty hangs around thee like
My head is heavy, my limbs are weary,
Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys,
The babe is at peace within the womb;
And who feels discord now or sorrow?
There is a warm and gentle atmosphere
When May is painting with her colours gay
I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took
How sweet it is to sit and read the tales
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings
Serene in his unconquerable might
The fitful alternations of the rain,
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying
A golden-winged Angel stood
Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer
Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
I went into the deserts of dim sleep -
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest
Faint with love, the Lady of the South
The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses
And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
My thoughts arise and fade in solitude,
For me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble
O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age
As the sunrise to the night,
My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim
Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven,
People of England, ye who toil and groan,
I am as a spirit who has dwelt
I am drunk with the honey wine
Come, thou awakener of the spirit's ocean,
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Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle - k.t.l.
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[VERSES 360 ET SEQ.]
Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verse
The idea of the following tale was taken from a few unconnected German Stanzas. - The principal Character is evidently the Wandering Jew, and although not mentioned by name, the burning Cross on his forehead undoubtedly alludes to that superstition,
Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
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HERALD OF ETERNITY:
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove,
I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes,
O universal Mother, who dost keep
Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody,
Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more
Muse, sing the deeds of golden Aphrodite,
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Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles
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I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
LEGHORN, July 1, 1820.]
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Alas, good friend, what profit can you see
Many a green isle needs must be
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She left me at the silent time
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
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And many there were hurt by that strong boy,
Why is it said thou canst not live
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From The Purgatorio Of Dante, Canto 28, Lines 1-51.
Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
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We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
This morn thy gallant bark
O that a chariot of cloud were mine!
CHORUS OF SPIRITS:
Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
EPODE 1a.
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
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By the mossy brink,
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THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST. - Ecclesiastes.
Her voice did quiver as we parted,
Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind
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[Published by Shelley, 1810. A Reprint, edited by Richard Garnett, C.B., LL.D., was issued by John Lane, in 1898. The punctuation of the original edition is here retained.]
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I met a traveller from an antique land
Pan loved his neighbour Echo - but that child
Listen, listen, Mary mine,
PROLOGUE.
PART 1.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[An edition (250 copies) of "Queen Mab" was printed at London in the summer of 1813 by Shelley himself, whose name, as author and printer, appears on the title-page. Of this edition about seventy copies were privately distributed. Sections 1, 2, 8, a
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'Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill,
ROSALIND, HELEN, AND HER CHILD.
Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass,
MADDALO, A COURTIER.
SCENE 1. - PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.
SCENE 1:
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See yon opening flower
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Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling,
Come [Harriet]! sweet is the hour,
Fierce roars the midnight storm
And said I that all hope was fled,
Stern, stern is the voice of fate's fearful command,
Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain,
Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear,
Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but]
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there,
GUIDO CAVALCANTI TO DANTE ALIGHIERI:
Dante Alighieri To Guido Cavalcanti:
Vessels of heavenly medicine! may the breeze
Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, -
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
To me this world's a dreary blank,
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Tremble, Kings despised of man!
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
If I walk in Autumn's even
Translated By Medwin And Corrected By Shelley.
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Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
It was a bright and cheerful afternoon,
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At the creation of the Earth
Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream,
DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
SILENUS.
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Old winter was gone
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The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light
There was a little lawny islet
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Dearest, best and brightest,
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A scene, which 'wildered fancy viewed
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(As revised by Mr. C.D. Locock.)
PART 1.
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Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
There late was One within whose subtle being,
Amid the desolation of a city,
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task
FIRST SPIRIT:
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
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A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune
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Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
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DAKRTSI DIOISO POTMON 'APOTMON.
Music, when soft voices die,
Yet look on me - take not thine eyes away,
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene
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Death! where is thy victory?
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It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven
Thy look of love has power to calm
I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
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Best and brightest, come away!
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O Mary dear, that you were here
My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone,
The world is dreary,
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For your letter, dear - [Hattie], accept my best thanks,
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Month after month the gathered rains descend
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Thy little footsteps on the sands
(With what truth may I say -
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?
(Published by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, with Shelley's corrections in italics [''].)
As a violet's gentle eye
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Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.
Ariel to Miranda: - Take