Percy Bysshe Shelley Poems

HOW wonderful is Death,
Death, and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
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...
And many there were hurt by that strong boy,
His name, they said, was Pleasure,
And near him stood, glorious beyond measure
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Thy beauty hangs around thee like
Splendour around the moon--
Thy voice, as silver bells that strike
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No, Music, thou art not the 'food of Love.'
Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self,
Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.
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Arise, arise, arise!
There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread;
Be your wounds like eyes
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Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.--BYRON.

I.
A glorious people vibrated again
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It was a bright and cheerful afternoon,
Towards the end of the sunny month of June,
When the north wind congregates in crowds
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She left me at the silent time
When the moon had ceas'd to climb
The azure path of Heaven's steep,
And like an albatross asleep,
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I.
Shall we roam, my love,
To the twilight grove,
When the moon is rising bright;
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CHORUS OF SPIRITS:

FIRST SPIRIT:
Palace-roof of cloudless nights!
Paradise of golden lights!
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