Percy Bysshe Shelley on Nature
1792–1822 England
← All quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
6 quotes
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon.
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
The Indian Serenade (1819)
The young moon has fed
Her exhausted horn
With the sunset's fire.
Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
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?
Rough wind, the moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, —
Wail, for the world's wrong!
A Dirge (1821)