Maxioms by Percy Bysshe Shelley
And the wand-like lily which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, read more
And the wand-like lily which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, which is its eye,
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.
'Twas his ambition, generous and great
A life to life's great end to consecrate.
'Twas his ambition, generous and great
A life to life's great end to consecrate.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.
Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.
