The Waning Moon
And like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose
One Word Is Too Often Profaned
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother; And pity from
Mont Blanc: Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni
I The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark now glittering now reflecting gloom Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought
A Summer Evening Churchyard, Lechlade, Gloucestershire
THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapour that obscured the sunset’s ray, And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day: Silence and Twilight,
To A Lady, With A Guitar
Ariel to Miranda: Take This slave of music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee; And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou, Make the
Remorse
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights
Mont Blanc
(Lines written in the Vale of Chamouni) 1 The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark – now glittering – now reflecting gloom – Now lending
Good-Night
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night good, Though thy
Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills
Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on – Day and night, and night and day, Drifting
Poetical Essay
Extract from Poetical Essay by Percy Bysshe Shelley Millions to fight compell’d, to fight or die In mangled heaps on War’s red altar lie. . . When the legal murders swell the lists of
Julian and Maddalo (excerpt)
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand Of hillocks, heap’d from ever-shifting sand, Matted with thistles and amphibious
An Exhortation
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever
To Coleridge
Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair As star-beams among twilight trees: Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned
Time
Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits
Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats
I weep for Adonais he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn