The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley: Given from His Own Editions and Other Authentic Sources : Collated with Many Manuscripts and with All Editions of Authority : Together with His Prefaces and Notes, His Poetical Translations and Fragments and an Appendix of Juvenilia, Zväzok 1Reeves & Turner, 1892 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 86.
Strana xxxiv
... wild than he could have felt for any personal advantage . Those who have never experi- enced the workings of passion on general and unselfish sub- jects cannot understand this ; and it must be difficult of com- prehension to the younger ...
... wild than he could have felt for any personal advantage . Those who have never experi- enced the workings of passion on general and unselfish sub- jects cannot understand this ; and it must be difficult of com- prehension to the younger ...
Strana xliii
... wild in literature ; but had not fostered these tastes at their genuine sources- the romances and chivalry of the middle ages ; but in the perusal of such German works as were current in those days . Under the influence of these , he ...
... wild in literature ; but had not fostered these tastes at their genuine sources- the romances and chivalry of the middle ages ; but in the perusal of such German works as were current in those days . Under the influence of these , he ...
Strana lviii
... wild - eyed charioteer , urging their flight . Some look behind , as fiends pursued them there , And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars : Others , with burning eyes , lean forth , and drink With eager lips the wind of their own ...
... wild - eyed charioteer , urging their flight . Some look behind , as fiends pursued them there , And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars : Others , with burning eyes , lean forth , and drink With eager lips the wind of their own ...
Strana lxxiii
... wild ; Softest grave of a thousand fears , Where their mother , Care , like a drowsy child , Is laid asleep in flowers . And then again this melancholy trace of the sad thronging thoughts , which were the well whence he drew the idea of ...
... wild ; Softest grave of a thousand fears , Where their mother , Care , like a drowsy child , Is laid asleep in flowers . And then again this melancholy trace of the sad thronging thoughts , which were the well whence he drew the idea of ...
Strana lxxiv
... wild spirit that mocked . itself and others - not in bitterness , but in sport . The Author of " Nightmare Abbey " seized on some points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted Scythrop . He was not addicted to ...
... wild spirit that mocked . itself and others - not in bitterness , but in sport . The Author of " Nightmare Abbey " seized on some points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted Scythrop . He was not addicted to ...
Obsah
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Časté výrazy a frázy
Adonais AHASUERUS art thou beams BEATRICE beautiful beneath BERNARDO blood breath bright calm CAMILLO CENCI child clouds cold Colonna Palace Dæmon dare dark dead death deep delight DEMOGORGON despair doth dream earth evil eyes faint father fear fled flowers gentle GIACOMO grave hair hate hear heard heart Heaven hope human innocent Iona Italy Laon light lips living look LUCRETIA MARZIO mighty mind moon mountains never night nursling o'er ocean OLIMPIO ORSINO pain pale PANTHEA passion Pisa poem poet PROMETHEUS Prometheus Unbound PURGANAX Queen Mab Revolt of Islam Rome round ruin sate SAVELLA SEMICHORUS shadow Shelley Shelley's silent slaves sleep smile soul sound speak spirit stars strange stream sweet SWELLFOOT swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought thro throne truth tyrant voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings words
Populárne pasáže
Strana 426 - To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.
Strana 447 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Strana 449 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there.
Strana xcvii - 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.
Strana 450 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower...
Strana 449 - I pass" through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
Strana 450 - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Strana 444 - 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.
Strana xx - On a poet's lips I slept, Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept. Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be : But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality.
Strana 451 - 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.