Percy Bysshe Shelley: Всі вірші поета

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Hymn of Pan

From the forests and highlands

We come, we come;

From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb

Listening to my sweet pipings.

The wind in the reeds and the rushes,

The bees on the bells of thyme

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Triumph Of Life

Swift as a spirit hastening to his task

Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth

Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask

Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth.

The smokeless altars of the mountain snows

Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth

Of light, the Ocean's orison arose

To which the birds tempered their matin lay,

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Stanzas Written in Dejection, Near Naples

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright,

Blue isles and snowy mountains wear

The purple noon's transparent might,

The breath of the moist earth is light,

Around its unexpanded buds;

Like many a voice of one delight

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Sonnet: Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live

Lift not the painted veil which those who live

Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,

And it but mimic all we would believe

With colours idly spread,—behind, lurk Fear

And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave

Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.

I knew one who had lifted it—he sought,

For his lost heart was tender, things to love,

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale

And like a dying lady, lean and pale,

Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,

Out of her chamber, led by the insane

And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,

The moon arose up in the murky East,

A white and shapeless mass—

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Adonais: An elegy on the Death of John Keats

I weep for Adonais -he is dead!

O, 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 our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,

And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me

Died Adonais; till the Future dares

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Sonnet: England in 1819

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,--

Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow

Through public scorn,--mud from a muddy spring,--

Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,

But leech-like to their fainting country cling,

Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,--

A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,--

An army, which liberticide and prey

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A Lament

O World! O Life! O Time!

On whose last steps I climb,

Trembling at that where I had stood before;

When will return the glory of your prime?

No more --Oh, never more!

Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight:

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Prometheus Unbound

A Lyrical Drama, In Four Acts.

Audisne haec amphiarae, sub terram abdite?

ACT I

Scene.—A Ravine of Icy Rocks in the Indian Caucasus. Prometheus is discovered bound to the Precipice. Panthea andIone are seated at his feet. Time, night. During the Scene, morning slowly breaks.

Prometheus.

Monarch of Gods and Dæmons, and all Spirits

But One, who throng those bright and rolling worlds

Which Thou and I alone of living things

Percy Bysshe Shelley

To A Skylark

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hymn of Apollo

The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,

Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries,

From the broad moonlight of the sky,

Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,--

Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn,

Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone.

II.

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;

by Percy Bysshe Shelley