The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Band 3Little, Brown, 1855 |
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Seite 21
... feel thee no more ? To be after life what we have been before ? Not to touch those sweet hands , not to look on those eyes , Those lips , and that hair , all that smiling disguise Thou yet wearest , sweet spirit , which I , day by day ...
... feel thee no more ? To be after life what we have been before ? Not to touch those sweet hands , not to look on those eyes , Those lips , and that hair , all that smiling disguise Thou yet wearest , sweet spirit , which I , day by day ...
Seite 30
... that silver sphere , Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear , Until we hardly see , we feel that it is there . VI . All the earth and air With thy voice is loud , As , when night is bare , From one lonely 30 TO A SKYLARK .
... that silver sphere , Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear , Until we hardly see , we feel that it is there . VI . All the earth and air With thy voice is loud , As , when night is bare , From one lonely 30 TO A SKYLARK .
Seite 32
... Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so XIV . Chorus hymeneal , Or triumphal chaunt , Matched with thine would be all divine . But an empty vaunt— A thing wherein we feel there 32 TO A SKYLARK .
... Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so XIV . Chorus hymeneal , Or triumphal chaunt , Matched with thine would be all divine . But an empty vaunt— A thing wherein we feel there 32 TO A SKYLARK .
Seite 33
... feel there is some hidden want . XV . 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 ? XVI . With thy clear ...
... feel there is some hidden want . XV . 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 ? XVI . With thy clear ...
Seite 88
... radiant hair streamed to and fro ; Beneath , the billows having vainly striven Indignant and impetuous , roared to feel The swift and steady motion of the keel . XLVII . Or , when the weary moon was in 888 THE WITCH OF ATLAS .
... radiant hair streamed to and fro ; Beneath , the billows having vainly striven Indignant and impetuous , roared to feel The swift and steady motion of the keel . XLVII . Or , when the weary moon was in 888 THE WITCH OF ATLAS .
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Adonais ANTISTROPHE art thou Baubo Bay of Spezia beams beast beautiful beneath boat bowers breath bright burning calm cave cavern chidden CHORUS clouds cold cradle CYCLOPS CYPRIAN DÆMON dance dark dead dear death deep delight DEMON divine dream earth eternal eyes faint fair FAUST fear fire flame transformed fled flowers gentle glorious golden gray green heart heaven Hermes immortal Jove JUSTINA kiss leaves LEIGH HUNT Lerici light living MEPHISTOPHELES mighty moon mortal mountain never night o'er ocean odour Onchestus pale Pisa rain rocks round Serchio shadow Shelley shore SILENUS singing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit splendour stars stream sweet swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought throne thunder trembling ULYSSES veil Via Reggio voice wake wandering waves weep Whilst Widener Library wild wind wings Witch
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 166 - He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Seite 32 - 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 : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view : XI.
Seite 170 - The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Seite 173 - I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — And I replied, No, not thee ! Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!
Seite 29 - I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky ; 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.
Seite 167 - And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. " Thou art become as one of us," they cry, " It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!
Seite 25 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Seite 165 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Seite 27 - I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Seite 31 - 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...