Occupation: Poet Birth: August 4, 1792 Death: July 8, 1822
We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece..
No man has a right to disturb the public peace, by personally resisting the execution of a law however bad. He ought to acquiesce, using at the same ….
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the ros….
War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade..
The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low ….
Heaven's ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spre….
Kings are like stars,-they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose..
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being. Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing..
Of Planets, struggling fierce towards heaven's free wilderness..
This is Heaven, when pain and evil cease, and when the Benignant Principle, untrammelled and uncontrolled, visits in the fulness of its power the uni….
Peace is in the grave. The grave hides all things beautiful and good. I am a God and cannot find it there, Nor would I seek it; for, though dread rev….
I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown..
Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.
There is no sport in hate where all the rage Is on one side..
O cease! must hate and death return, Cease! must men kill and die? Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy. The world is weary of th….
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….
All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil.
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame..
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds..
All love is sweet, given or received..
I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields; Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. You with the unpa….