The Boat On The Serchio (Percy Bysshe Shelley Poems)
Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream,Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream,The helm sways idly, hither and ...
Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream,Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream,The helm sways idly, hither and ...
WHILE Phoebus did our summer arbours cheer,And joys Autumnal crown'd our circling year;Even then my thoughts to you excursions made,And ...
I have a longing to be free; The soul that in me hides Its mouldering fires, unwillingly Its day of liberation bides. Clouds, that ...
I.Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!The flower will bloom another year.Weep no more! oh, weep no more!Young buds sleep ...
1.HOW must the Seasons smile in Arno's vale,The milder Climate of Italian groves,Where the soft Zephyrs and the morning galeBreathe ...
LET us live, live! for, being dead,The pretty spots,Ribbons and knots,And the fine French dress for the head,No lady wears ...
Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,And then behold your lips, where sweet ...
Neere to the place where Nilus channels runne, There stood a town by loue long since vndone For ...
Musing on the fate of Daphne,Many feelings urged my breast,For the God so keen desiring,And the Nymph so deep distrest.Never ...
I.I stood in an ancient gardenWith high red walls around;Over them grey and green lichensIn shadowy arabesque wound.The topmost climbing ...
MY father left a park to me, But it is wild and barren, A garden too with scarce ...
Do you hunt alone to-day, O Red Richard! Pray you tell me, do you hunt all your lone? "Ay, I ...
Mourn, Persia, mourn! thy charms decay; Proud Ispahan, the seat of power, Is shorn by time's relentless sway Of her ...
When in the long—drawn avenues of Thought I halt, and look before me and behind, And seek what erst I ...
I How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there, beyond the high wall! How ...
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
Who says that fictions only and false hair Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty? Is all good ...
Up this green woodland-ride let's softly rove, And list the nightingale- she dwells just here. Hush ! let the wood-gate ...
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n'or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look'd with love; ...
MY father left a park to me, But it is wild and barren, A garden too with scarce a tree, ...
O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud, Then when the Dragon, ...
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