Poetical Works, Volumes 1-2

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Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1865

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Page 191 - I will be wise, And just and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power ; for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.
Page 429 - ... bright chains Eat with their burning cold into my bones. Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lips His beak in poison not his own, tears up My heart; and shapeless sights come wandering by, The ghastly people of the realm of dream, Mocking me : and the Earthquake-fiends are charged To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds When the rocks split and close again behind: While from their loud abysses howling throng The genii of the storm, urging the rage Of whirlwind, and afflict me with...
Page 124 - The rocks are cloven, and through the purple night I see cars drawn by rainbow-winged steeds Which trample the dim winds ; in each there stands A wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight. Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there, And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars ; Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink With eager lips the wind of their own speed, As if the thing they loved fled on before, And now, even now, they clasped it. Their bright locks Stream like a comet's flashing...
Page 318 - Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. A loftier Argo cleaves the main, Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again, And loves, and weeps, and dies; A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore.
Page 318 - Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendour of its prime; And leave, if nought so bright may live, All earth can take or Heaven can give.
Page 67 - My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing. It seems to float ever, for ever, Upon that many-winding river, Between mountains, woods, abysses, A paradise of wildernesses!
Page 109 - Man, one harmonious soul of many a soul, Whose nature is its own divine control, Where all things flow to all, as rivers to the sea...
Page 120 - Shelley believed that mankind had only to will that there should be no evil, and there would be none.
Page 117 - And if, with infirm hand, Eternity, Mother of many acts and hours, should free The serpent that would clasp her with his length; These are the spells by which to reassume An empire o'er the disentangled doom.
Page 9 - twas a sight Of wonder to behold the body and soul. The self-same lineaments, the same Marks of identity were there : Yet, oh, how different ! One aspires to Heaven, Pants for its sempiternal heritage, And ever-changing, ever-rising still, Wantons in endless being. The other, for a time the unwilling sport Of circumstance and passion, struggles on , Fleets through its sad duration rapidly : Then like an useless and worn-out machine, Rots, perishes, and passes.

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