On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?
(A Lament)
More Quotes from Percy Bysshe Shelley:
My hopes were once like fire;I loved, and I believed that life was love.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
O storm of death,
Whose sightless speed divides this sullen night!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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