Percy Bysshe Shelley

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought.

To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came.

He died, Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, Blind, old, and lonely.

Most musical of mourners, weep again!

Till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!

I weep for Adonais — he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

And bid them love each other and be blest: And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves, And come and be my guest, — for I am Love's.

Love's very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.

I never was attached to that great sect, Whose doctrine is, that each one should select Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend, And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend To cold oblivion

I never thought before my death to see Youth's vision thus made perfect.

Poor captive bird! Who, from thy narrow cage, Pourest such music, that it might assuage The rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee, Were they not deaf to all sweet melody.

My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few Who fitly shalt conceive thy reasoning, Of such hard matter dost thou entertain; Whence, if by misadventure, chance should bring Thee to base company (as chance may do), Quite unaware of what …

The world is weary of the past, Oh, might it die or rest at last!

The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam, Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

But Greece and her foundations are Built below the tide of war, Based on the crystalline sea Of thought and its eternity; Her citizens, imperial spirits, Rule the present from the past,

Let there be light! said Liberty, And like sunrise from the sea, Athens arose!

The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on.

Kings are like stars — they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.

Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, — but it returneth!

We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts have their root in Greece.

Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then — as I am listening now.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.