Maxioms by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity.
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity.
Around, around in ceaseless circles wheeling
With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed
Incessantly.
Around, around in ceaseless circles wheeling
With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed
Incessantly.
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.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to read more
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
