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The Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, with His Life Volume 1, Том 1
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Недоступно для просмотра - 2013
Beatr Beatrice beautiful beneath blood breath bright calm child Chorus clouds cold comes crime dark dead dear death deed deep delight dream earth Enter eyes fair father fear feel fire flowers gentle give grave green hair hand hast hear heard heart heaven hope hour human innocent kill knew Lady leaves light lips live look lost Lucr mighty mind moon mother mountains move never night o'er once pale pass past poor rest rocks round scene seems shadow silent sleep smiles soft soon soul sound speak spirit stars steps strange stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought truth turned Ulys voice wandering waves weep whilst wild wind wings woods wrong
Стр. 72 - Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround — Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; — To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Стр. 37 - While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave, and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed ; I was not heard : I saw them not. When musing deeply on the lot Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring News of birds and blossoming, Sudden thy shadow fell on me — I shrieked, and clasped my hands in...
Стр. 71 - O, lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas ! My heart beats loud and fast: Oh! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last ! Very few, perhaps, are familiar with these lines — yet no less a poet than Shelley is their author.
Стр. 50 - Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound, And our veins beat together; and our lips, With o'ther eloquence than words, eclipse The soul that burns between them...
Стр. 95 - Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Стр. 75 - I am the eye with which the Universe Beholds itself and knows itself divine; All harmony of instrument or verse, All prophecy, all medicine are mine, All light of art or nature; — to my song, Victory and praise in their own right belong.
Стр. 130 - But thou art fled Like some frail exhalation, which the dawn Robes in its golden beams, — ah ! thou hast fled ! The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful, The child of grace and genius. Heartless things Are done and said i...
Стр. 29 - You are now In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more.
Стр. 65 - 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!