Rabi Khan Gallery Rene Magritte Gallery Pierre-Auguste Renoir Gallery Norman Rockwell Gallery Marc Chagall Gallery

First Lines of Percy Bysshe Shelley

A cat in distress, A gentle story of two lovers young, A portal as of shadowy adamant Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear, Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill, Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, Amid the desolation of a city, And like a dying lady, lean and pale, And said I that all hope was fled, And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee And who feels discord now or sorrow? As the sunrise to the night, Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, At the creation of the Earth Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven, Chameleons feed on light and air: Come [Harriet]! sweet is the hour, Death is here and death is there, Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Far, far away, O ye Fierce roars the midnight storm Follow to the deep wood's weeds, Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Hopes that swell in youthful breasts, How sweet it is to sit and read the tales I am as a spirit who has dwelt I am drunk with the honey wine I arise from dreams of thee I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake; I met a traveller from an antique land, Is it that in some brighter sphere Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Listen, listen, Mary mine, Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; My faint spirit was sitting in the light My spirit like a charmèd bark doth swim O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line O world! O life! O time! Oh! what is the gain of restless care, One sung of thee who left the tale untold, One word is too often profaned Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, Palace-roof of cloudless nights? Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Shall we roam, my love, Silver key of the fountain of tears, Stern, stern is the voice of fate's fearful command, Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Swifter far than summer's flight -- Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light The [living frame which sustains my soul] The cold earth slept below, The death knell is ringing The fiery mountains answer each other; The fitful alternations of the rain, The flower that smiles to-day The fountains mingle with the river The keen stars were twinkling, The pale, the cold, and the moony smile The rose that drinks the fountain dew The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light The sun is set; the swallows are asleep; The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The waters are flashing, There is a warm and gentle atmosphere There was a little lawny islet These are two friends whose lives were undivided; Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy look of love has power to calm To me this world's a dreary blank, To thirst and find no fill, -- to wail and wander 'Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling, Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun Wake the serpent not -- lest he We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; We meet not as we parted, When a lover clasps his fairest When passion's trance is overpast, When soft winds and sunny skies Why is it said thou canst not live Ye gentle visitations of calm thought -- Ye hasten to the dead! What seek ye there, Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,