The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
V
25
Those boiling waves,
And the storm that raves
At night o’er their foaming crest,
Resemble the strife
That, from earliest life,
30
The passions have waged in my breast.
VI
Oh, come, then, and rove
To the sea or the grove,
When the moon is rising bright;
And I’ll whisper there,
35
In the cool night-air,
What I dare not in broad daylight.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
A cat in distress
A gentle story of two lovers young
A glorious people vibrated again
A golden-wingèd Angel stood
A Hater he came and sat by a ditch
A man who was about to hang himself
A pale Dream came to a Lady fair
A portal as of shadowy adamant
A rainbow’s arch stood on the sea
A scene, which ’wildered fancy viewed
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew
A shovel of his ashes took
A widow bird sate mourning
A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune
Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary
Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear
Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill
Ah, sister! Desolation is a delicate thing
Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain
Alas! for Liberty!
Alas, good friend, what profit can you see
Alas! this is not what I thought life was
Ambition, power, and avarice, now have hurled
Amid the desolation of a city
Among the guests who often stayed
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king
And can’st thou mock mine agony, thus calm
And earnest to explore within—around
And ever as he went he swept a lyre
And, if my grief should still be dearer to me
And like a dying lady, lean and pale
And many there were hurt by that strong boy
And Peter Bell, when he had been
And said I that all hope was fled
And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal
And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains
And when the old man saw that on the green
And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee
And who feels discord now or sorrow?
Arethusa arose
Ariel to Miranda:—Take
Arise, arise, arise!
Art thou indeed forever gone
Art thou pale for weariness
As a violet’s gentle eye
As from an ancestral oak
As I lay asleep in Italy
As the sunrise to the night
Ask not the pallid stranger’s woe
At the creation of the Earth
Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon
Bear witness, Erin! when thine injured isle
Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth
Beside the dimness of the glimmering sea
Best and brightest, come away!
Break the dance, and scatter the song
Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even
Bright clouds float in heaven
Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven
Brothers! between you and me
‘Buona notte, buona notte!’—Come mai
By the mossy brink
Chameleons feed on light and air
Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling
Come, be happy!—sit near me
Come [Harriet]! sweet is the hour
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind
Come, thou awakener of the spirit’s ocean
Corpses are cold in the tomb
Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind
Darkness has dawned in the East
Dar’st thou amid the varied multitude
Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody
Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys
Dearest, best and brightest
Death is here and death is there
Death! where is thy victory?
Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end?
Do you not hear the Aziola cry?
Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb ?
Earth, ocean, air, belovèd brotherhood
Echoes we: listen!
Ever as now with Love and Virtue’s glow
Faint with love, the Lady of the South
Fairest of the Destinies
False friend, wilt thou smile or weep
Far, far away, O ye
Fiend, I defy thee! with a calm, fixed mind
Fierce roars the midnight storm
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Follow to the deep wood’s weeds
For me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble
For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave
For your letter, dear [Hattie], accept my best thanks
From all the blasts of heaven thou hast descended
From the cities where from caves
From the ends of the earth, from the ends of the earth
From the forests and highlands
From unremembered ages we
Gather, O gather
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
God prosper, speed, and save
Good-night ? ah! no; the hour is ill
Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind
Hark! the owlet flaps her wing
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings
Hast thou not seen, officious with delight
He came like a dream in the dawn of life
He wanders, like a day-appearing dream
Hell is a city much like London
Her hair was brown, her spherèd eyes were brown
Her voice did quiver as we parted
Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink
’Here lieth One whose name was writ on water’
Here, my dear friend, is a new book for you
Here, oh, here
Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali
His face was like a snake’s—wrinkled and loose
Honey from silkworms who can gather
Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts
How eloquent are eyes
How, my dear Mary,—are you critic-bitten
How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
How sweet it is to sit and read the tales
How swiftly through Heaven’s wide expanse
How wonderful is Death
How wonderful is Death
I am afraid these verses will not please you, but
I am as a spirit who has dwelt
I am drunk with the honey wine
I arise from dreams of thee
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way
I dreamed that Milton’s spirit rose, and took
I faint, I perish with my love! I grow
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden
I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake
I loved—alas! our life is love
I met a traveller from an antique land
I mourn Adonis dead—loveliest Adonis
I pant for the music which is divine
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
I sate beside a sage’s bed
I sate beside the Steersman then, and gazing
I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
I stood within the City disinterred
I weep for Adonais—he is dead!
I went into the deserts of dim sleep
I would not be a king—enough
If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains
If I esteemed you less, Envy would kill
If I walk in Autumn’s even
In the cave which wild weeds cover
In the sweet solitude of this calm place
Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles
Is it that in some brighter sphere
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He
Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer
It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven
It is the day when all the sons of God
It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky
It was a bright and cheerful afternoon
Kissing Helena, together
Let there be light! said Liberty
Let those who pine in pride or in revenge
Life of Life! thy lips enkindle
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Listen, listen, Mary mine
Lo, Peter in Hell’s Grosvenor Square
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow
Many a green isle needs must be
Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse
Men of England, wherefore plough
Methought I was a billow in the crowd
Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed
Monarch of Gods and Daemons, and all Spirits
Month after month the gathered rains descend
Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale
Muse, sing the deeds of golden Aphrodite
Music, when soft voices die
My coursers are fed with the lightning
My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
My head is heavy, my limbs are weary
My head is wild with weeping for a grief
My lost William, thou in whom
My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few
My soul is an enchanted boat
My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim
My thoughts arise and fade in solitude
My wings are folded o’er mine ears
Night, with all thine eyes look down!
Night! with all thine eyes look down!
No access to the Duke! You have not said
No, Music, thou art not the ‘food of Love’
No trump tells thy virtues
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame
Not far from hence. From yonder pointed hill
Now had the loophole of that dungeon, still
Now the last day of many days
O Bacchus, what a world of toil, both now
O happy Earth! reality of Heaven
O Mary dear, that you were here
O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age
O pillow cold and wet with tears!
O Slavery! thou frost of the world’s prime
O that a chariot of cloud were mine!
O that mine enemy had written
O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line
O thou immortal deity
O thou, who plumed with strong desire
O universal Mother, who dost keep
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being
O world! O life! O time!
Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more
Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass
Oh! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes
Oh! there are spirits of the air
Oh! what is the gain of restless care
On a battle-trumpet’s blast
On a poet’s lips I slept
On the brink of the night and the morning
Once, early in the morning
One sung of thee who left the tale untold
One word is too often profaned
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead
Our boat is asleep on Serchio’s stream
Our spoil is won
Over the utmost hill at length I sped
Palace-roof of cloudless nights!
Pan loved his neighbour Echo—but that child
People of England, ye who toil and groan
Peter Bells, one, two and three
Place, for the Marshal of the Masque!
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
Prince Athanase had one belovèd friend
Rarely, rarely, comest thou
Reach me that handkerchief!—My brain is hurt
Returning from its daily quest, my Spirit
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying
Rough wind, that moanest loud
Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth
See yon opening flower
Serene in his unconquerable might
Shall we roam, my love
She comes not; yet I left her even now
She left me at the silent time
She saw me not—she heard me not—alone
She was an agèd woman; and the years
Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou
Silver key of the fountain of tears
Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove
Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain
So now my summer task is ended, Mary
So we sate joyous as the morning ray
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’s fearful command
Such hope, as is the sick despair of good
Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds
Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring
Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one
Sweet star, which gleaming o’er the darksome scene
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task
Swifter far than summer’s flight
Swiftly walk o’er the western wave
Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light
That matter of the murder is hushed up
That night we anchored in a woody bay
That time is dead for ever, child!
The awful shadow of some unseen Power
The babe is at peace within the womb
The billows on the beach are leaping around it
The cold earth slept below
The curtain of the Universe
The death-bell beats!
The death knell is ringing
The Devil, I safely can aver
The Devil now knew his proper cue
The Elements respect their Maker’s seal!
The everlasting universe of things
The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses
The fiery mountains answer each other
The fitful alternations of the rain
The flower that smiles to-day
The fountains mingle with the river
The gentleness of rain was in the wind
The golden gates of Sleep unbar
The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness
The keen stars were twinkling
The odour from the flower is gone
The old man took the oars, and soon the bark
The pale stars are gone
The pale stars of the morn
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
The path through which that lovely twain
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
The rude wind is singing
The season was the childhood of sweet June
The serpent is shut out from Paradise
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie
The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
The starlight smile of children, the sweet looks
The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep
The sun is warm, the sky is clear
The sun makes music as of old
The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness
The viewless and invisible Consequence
The voice of the Spirits of Air and of Earth
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing
The waters are flashing
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
The world is dreary
The world is now our dwelling-place
The world’s great age begins anew
Then weave the web of the mystic measure
There is a warm and gentle atmosphere
There late was One within whose subtle being
There was a little lawny islet
There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel
These are two friends whose lives were undivided
They die—the dead return not—Misery
Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil
Thou art fair, and few are fairer
Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all
Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Thou supreme Goddess! by whose power divine
Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be
Thou wert the morning star among the living
Thrice three hundred thousand years
Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die
Thy beauty hangs around thee like
Thy country’s curse is on thee, darkest crest
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast
Thy little footsteps on the sands
Thy look of love has power to calm
’Tis midnight now—athwart the murky air
’Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail
To me this world’s a dreary blank
To the deep, to the deep
To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander
Tremble, Kings despised of man
’Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings
’Twas at this season that Prince Athanase
’Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling
’Twas dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling
Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years
Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun
Vessels of heavenly medicine! may the breeze
Victorious Wrong, with vulture scream
Wake the serpent not—lest he
Was there a human spirit in the steed
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon
We come from the mind
We join the throng
We meet not as we parted
We strew these opiate flowers
Wealth and dominion fade into the mass
Weave the dance on the floor of the breeze
Weep not, my gentle boy; he struck but me
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest