Percy Shelley Poems : all poems of by Percy Bysshe Shelley poems. poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Act 4, Shelley wrote several months after completing the first three in April 1819, it is the divine celebration of the birth of a new age. Percy Bice Shelley was one of the leading English romantic poets, and is considered by some to be one of the finest poets in the English language, and most influential. percy bysshe shelley love’s philosophy,the masque of anarchy poem,shelley poet.
Sophia (Miss Stacey) – Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thou art fair, and few are fairer
Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean;
They are robes that fit the wearer–
Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion
Ever falls and shifts and glances
As the life within them dances.
Thy deep eyes, a double Planet,
Gaze the wisest into madness
With soft clear fire,–the winds that fan it
Are those thoughts of tender gladness
Which, like zephyrs on the billow,
Make thy gentle soul their pillow.
If, whatever face thou paintest
In those eyes, grows pale with pleasure,
If the fainting soul is faintest
When it hears thy harp’s wild measure,
Wonder not that when thou speakest
Of the weak my heart is weakest.
As dew beneath the wind of morning,
As the sea which whirlwinds waken,
As the birds at thunder’s warning,
As aught mute yet deeply shaken,
As one who feels an unseen spirit
Is my heart when thine is near it.
To Constantia – Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue—
In the gaze of the nightly moon;
For the planet of frost, so cold and bright
Makes it wan with her borrowed light.
Such is my heart—roses are fair,
And that at best a withered blossom;
But thy false care did idly wear
Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom;
And fed with love, like air and dew,
To Edward Williams – Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
The serpent is shut out from Paradise.
The wounded deer must seek the herb no more
In which its heart-cure lies:
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower
Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs
Fled in the April hour.
I too must seldom seek again
Near happy friends a mitigated pain.
Of hatred I am proud,–with scorn content;
Indifference, that once hurt me, now is grown
But, not to speak of love, pity alone
Can break a spirit already more than bent.
The miserable one
Turns the mind’s poison into food,–
Its medicine is tears,–its evil good.
Therefore, if now I see you seldomer,
Dear friends, dear FRIEND! know that I only fly
Your looks, because they stir
Griefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die:
The very comfort that they minister
I scarce can bear, yet I,
So deeply is the arrow gone,
Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn.
When I return to my cold home, you ask
Why I am not as I have ever been.
YOU spoil me for the task
Of acting a forced part in life’s dull scene,–
Of wearing on my brow the idle mask
Of author, great or mean,
In the world’s carnival. I sought
Peace thus, and but in you I found it not.
Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot
With various flowers, and every one still said,
‘She loves me–loves me not.’
And if this meant a vision long since fled–
If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought–
If it meant,–but I dread
To speak what you may know too well:
Still there was truth in the sad oracle.
The crane o’er seas and forests seeks her home;
No bird so wild but has its quiet nest,
When it no more would roam;
The sleepless billows on the ocean’s breast
Break like a bursting heart, and die in foam,
And thus at length find rest:
Doubtless there is a place of peace
Where MY weak heart and all its throbs will cease.
I asked her, yesterday, if she believed
That I had resolution. One who HAD
Would ne’er have thus relieved
His heart with words,—but what his judgement bade
Would do, and leave the scorner unrelieved.
These verses are too sad
To send to you, but that I know,
Happy yourself, you feel another’s woe.