5 quotes
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own?
Ode to the West Wind (1819)
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
Ode to the West Wind (1819)
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Ode to the West Wind (1819)
Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might.
Ode to the West Wind (1819)
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
Ode to the West Wind (1819)