Percy Bysshe Shelley ( 10 of 45 )
The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another read more
The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge, another bears.
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not,
Our sincerest laughter
read more
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.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light read more
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to
open it and remove all doubt.
It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to
open it and remove all doubt.
Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.
Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.
And the wand-like lily which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, read more
And the wand-like lily which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, which is its eye,
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.
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.
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.
Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue
Among the flowers read more
Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue
Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
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.
