Percy Bysshe Shelley Poems

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
...

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
...

THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray,
And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair
In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:
...

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,--
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn,--mud from a muddy spring,--
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
...

My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
...

His face was like a snake's -- wrinkled and loose
And withered--
...

The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
...

The world`s great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn:
...

Silver key of the fountain of tears,
Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;
Softest grave of a thousand fears,
...

A hater he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;
And he sang a song which was more of a screech
...