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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

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Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Cry Fear Future Past
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bed Black Death Myself Reward Win
I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Goodness Love Myself Quiet Solitude Tranquility Wisdom
Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Lips Lover One Liner Relationship Soul Trouble
I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Fear Myself Tremble
When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Equality Heaven Human Joy Power Soul Willing
When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid – in which case all comment is superfluous – or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Fragrance Problem Stupidity Worth Yourself
Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Alone Black Myself Night Shadow Star World
Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Best Happiness Mindset Moments Poetry Record
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

History Man Memories Poem Writing
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Consumption Light Poet Poetry Power
Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Himself Kingdom Man Rule
Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, – but it returneth!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Change Death Fly Hope Life Return Truth
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Blood Hands Hard Heart Worst
Joy, once lost, is pain.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Joy Lost Pain
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead – When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Break Death Glory Lie Light

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