Percy Bysshe Shelley

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.

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.

Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
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Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung.

Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung.

And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.

And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.