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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYOnly nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
A sensitive plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan like leaves to the light, and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY