December 2010
24 posts
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To the Moon
Art thou pale for weariness? Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, - And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?
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“Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be “the expression of the...”
– Shelley (from “A Defence of Poetry”)
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“As I thought of the delight Shelley felt in such scenes of loneliness and...”
– Trelawny, from Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron. (via fighterjets)
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“BYRON: When Shelley’s corpse was recovered from the sea… It was burned on the...”
– Camino Real, Tennessee Williams (via identityunderdeconstruction)
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from "The Sensitive Plant"
Whether the Sensitive-plant, or that Which within its boughs like a spirit sat Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, - I cannot say. Whether that Lady’s gentle mind, No longer with the form combined Which scattered love - as stars do light, Found sadness, where it left delight, I dare not guess; but in this life Of error, ignorance and strife - Where nothing is - but...
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“Shelley, when he died, was in his thirtieth year. His figure was tall and...”
– Leigh Hunt
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from Zastrozzi
But life fled; for Matilda, caught by a stranger’s arm, was prevented from the desperate act.
Overcome by horror, she fainted.
Some time did she lie in a state of torpid insensibility, till the stranger, filling his cap with water from the river, and sprinkling her pallid countenance with it, recalled to life the miserable Matilda.
What was her surprise, what was her mingled emotion of...
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When the Lamp is Shattered
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow’s glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart’s echoes render No song when the spirit is mute - No song but sad dirges, Like the...
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Verses on a cat - written by 8 year old Shelley
I.
A cat in distress, Nothing more, nor less; Good folks, I must faithfully tell ye, As I am a sinner, It waits for some dinner To stuff out its own little belly.
II.
You would not easily guess All the modes of distress Which torture the tenants of earth; And the various evils, Which like so many devils, Attend the poor souls from their birth.
III.
Some a living require, And others desire An...
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