Percy Bysshe Shelley

Aug. 4, 1792 - July 8, 1822

 

First Lines of Percy Bysshe Shelley

A cat in distress,A gentle story of two lovers young,A portal as of shadowy adamantAh! 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 theeAnd who feels discord now or sorrow?As the sunrise to the night,Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,At the creation of the EarthAway! 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 yeFierce roars the midnight stormFollow to the deep wood's weeds,Good-night? ah! no; the hour is illHopes that swell in youthful breasts,How sweet it is to sit and read the talesI am as a spirit who has dweltI am drunk with the honey wineI arise from dreams of theeI fear thy kisses, gentle maiden,I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groanI love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;I met a traveller from an antique land,I would not be a king -- enoughIs it that in some brighter sphereIs not to-day enough? Why do I peerIt was a bright and cheerful afternoon,Listen, listen, Mary mine,Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to meMine eyes were dim with tears unshed;Music, when soft voices die,My faint spirit was sitting in the lightMy spirit like a charmèd bark doth swimO thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue lineO 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 profanedOrphan Hours, the Year is dead,Palace-roof of cloudless nights?Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to knowRarely, 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 sceneSwifter far than summer's flight --Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of lightThe [living frame which sustains my soul]The cold earth slept below,The death knell is ringingThe fiery mountains answer each other;The fitful alternations of the rain,The flower that smiles to-dayThe fountains mingle with the riverThe keen stars were twinkling,The pale, the cold, and the moony smileThe rose that drinks the fountain dewThe stars may dissolve, and the fountain of lightThe 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 atmosphereThere was a little lawny isletThese are two friends whose lives were undivided;Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;Thy look of love has power to calmTo 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 sunWake the serpent not -- lest heWe are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;We meet not as we parted,When a lover clasps his fairestWhen passion's trance is overpast,When soft winds and sunny skiesWhy is it said thou canst not liveYe gentle visitations of calm thought --Ye hasten to the dead! What seek ye there,Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
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