Maxioms by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
 Peter was dull; he was at first
 Dull;--Oh, so dull--so very dull!
  Whether he talked, wrote, or read more 
 Peter was dull; he was at first
 Dull;--Oh, so dull--so very dull!
  Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed--
   Still with his dulness was he cursed--
    Dull--beyond all conception--dull. 
 Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
 Bird thou never wert,
  That from Heaven, or near it,
  read more 
 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. 
 There is a snake in thy smile, my dear,
 And bitter poison within thy tear.  
 There is a snake in thy smile, my dear,
 And bitter poison within thy tear. 
 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.