To Mary Shelley
THE world is dreary,
And I'm weary
Of wandering on without thee, Mary;
A joy was erewhile
In thy voice and thy smile,
And 'tis gone, when I should be gone too, Mary.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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In Horologium
Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles
Fortunata mmis Machina dicit horas.
Quas manibus premit ilia duas insensa papillas
Cur mihi sit digito tangere, amata, nefas?
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Fitful Alternations of the Rain
The fitful alternations of the rain,
When the chill wind, languid as with pain
Of its own heavy moisture, here and there
Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Fragment: Great Spirit
Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
Nurtures within its unimagined caves,
In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,
Giving a voice to its mysterious waves--
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Fragment: The Vine-Shroud
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Fragment: A Wanderer
He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Faint With Love, The Lady Of The South
Faint with love, the Lady of the South
Lay in the paradise of Lebanon
Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth
Of love was on her lips; the light was gone
Out of her eyes--
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Sepulchre Of Memory
And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee
Has been my heart—and thy dead memory
Has lain from childhood, many a changeful year,
Unchangingly preserved and buried there.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Epigram I: To Stella
From the Greek of Plato.
Thou wert the morning star among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled;--
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To Italy
As the sunrise to the night,
As the north wind to the clouds,
As the earthquake's fiery flight,
Ruining mountain solitudes,
Everlasting Italy,
Be those hopes and fears on thee.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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