Percy Bysshe Shelley

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

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only read more

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not,
Our sincerest laughter
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We look before and after,
And pine for what is not,
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught:
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

'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.

Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
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Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world.