The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley: Given from His Own Editions and Other Authentic Sources : Collated with Many Manuscripts and with All Editions of Authority : Together with His Prefaces and Notes, His Poetical Translations and Fragments and an Appendix of Juvenilia, 1. kötetReeves & Turner, 1892 |
Részletek a könyvből
1 - 5 találat összesen 80 találatból.
xxxv. oldal
... voice in verse . Yet he was usually averse to expressing these feelings , except when highly idealized ; and many of his more beautiful effusions he had cast aside , unfinished , and they were never seen by me till after I had lost him ...
... voice in verse . Yet he was usually averse to expressing these feelings , except when highly idealized ; and many of his more beautiful effusions he had cast aside , unfinished , and they were never seen by me till after I had lost him ...
lvi. oldal
... voice , and to bestow such also on the most delicate and abstract emotions and thoughts of the mind . Sophocles was his great master in this species of imagery . I find in one of his manuscript books some remarks on a line in the Edipus ...
... voice , and to bestow such also on the most delicate and abstract emotions and thoughts of the mind . Sophocles was his great master in this species of imagery . I find in one of his manuscript books some remarks on a line in the Edipus ...
lxiv. oldal
... voice that echoes truth in its tones . It is curious , to one ac- quainted with the written story , to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes , and yet , through the power of ...
... voice that echoes truth in its tones . It is curious , to one ac- quainted with the written story , to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes , and yet , through the power of ...
xc. oldal
... voice for thee , From ocean's caverns sent . O list ! O list , The spirits of the deep ; They raise a wail of sorrow , While I for ever weep . WITH this last year of the life of Shelley these Notes end . They are not what I intended ...
... voice for thee , From ocean's caverns sent . O list ! O list , The spirits of the deep ; They raise a wail of sorrow , While I for ever weep . WITH this last year of the life of Shelley these Notes end . They are not what I intended ...
xciv. oldal
... voice as to the difference of our calm bay , and the open sea beyond ; but Shelley and his friend , with their one sailor boy , thought themselves a match for the storms of the Mediterranean , in a boat which they looked upon as equal ...
... voice as to the difference of our calm bay , and the open sea beyond ; but Shelley and his friend , with their one sailor boy , thought themselves a match for the storms of the Mediterranean , in a boat which they looked upon as equal ...
Tartalomjegyzék
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Gyakori szavak és kifejezések
Adonais AHASUERUS art thou beams BEATRICE beautiful beneath BERNARDO blood breath bright calm CAMILLO CENCI child clouds cold Colonna Palace Dæmon dare dark dead death deep delight DEMOGORGON despair doth dream earth evil eyes faint father fear fled flowers gentle GIACOMO grave hair hate hear heard heart Heaven hope human innocent Iona Italy Laon light lips living look LUCRETIA MARZIO mighty mind moon mountains never night nursling o'er ocean OLIMPIO ORSINO pain pale PANTHEA passion Pisa poem poet PROMETHEUS Prometheus Unbound PURGANAX Queen Mab Revolt of Islam Rome round ruin sate SAVELLA SEMICHORUS shadow Shelley Shelley's silent slaves sleep smile soul sound speak spirit stars strange stream sweet SWELLFOOT swift tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought thro throne truth tyrant voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings words
Népszerű szakaszok
426. oldal - To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory.
447. oldal - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
449. oldal - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see — we feel that it is there.
xcvii. oldal - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
450. oldal - 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 : 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...
449. oldal - 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.
450. oldal - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 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...
444. oldal - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own? The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness.
xx. oldal - On a poet's lips I slept, Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept. Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be : But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality.
451. oldal - 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? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.