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Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Related Topics

Consumption Light Poet Poetry Power

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Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition; he must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they really are.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Action Equality Freedom Habit Man Object Selfish True Wisdom
Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Deep Future Inspirational Mirror Poet Present Shadow
A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Goodness Greatness Happiness Himself Imagination Intense Man Pain Place
The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Drive Fate Poor Rich Standard
The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Happiness Sorrow Sweet
Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Beautiful Hide Poetry World
Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Memories Music Soft Vibration Voice
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

History Man Memories Poem Writing
Joy, once lost, is pain.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Joy Lost Pain
All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Learning Man Mistake Ourselves Worth Youth
I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Distance Field Myself River Travel
See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea – What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Earth Forgiveness Heaven Kiss Mountain Nature See Sister Sun Wave Yourself
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bird Cheerful Darkness Poet Solitude Sound Sweet
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Consumption Light Poet Poetry Power
The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset’s fire.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Exhaustion Fed Fire Moon Sun Young
Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Honor One Liner Smile Truth

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