|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Percy Bysshe Shelley. (17921822) (continued)|
| A lovely lady, garmented in light|
From her own beauty.
| The Witch of Atlas. Stanza 5.|
| Music, when soft voices die,|
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
| Music, when soft Voices die.|
| I love tranquil solitude|
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good.
| Rarely, rarely comest Thou.|
| Sing again, with your dear voice revealing|
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
| To Jane. The keen Stars were twinkling.|
| The desire of the moth for the star,|
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
| One Word is too often profaned.|
| You lieunder a mistake, 1|
For this is the most civil sort of lie
That can be given to a mans face. I now
Say what I think.
| Translation of Calderons Magico Prodigioso. Scene i.|
| How wonderful is Death!|
Death and his brother Sleep.
| Queen Mab. i.|
| Power, like a desolating pestilence,|
Pollutes whateer it touches; and obedience,
Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,
Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame
A mechanized automaton.
| Queen Mab. iii.|