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,
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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.

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.