Percy Bysshe Shelley

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

January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Are we not formed, as notes of music are, _x000D_ For one another, though dissimilar?

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - he hath awakened from the dream of life - 'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife.

There is no real wealth but the labor of man.

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

A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.

There is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...

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.

I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.

Among true and real friends, all is common; and were ignorance and envy and superstition banished from the world, all mankind would be friend.

Of Planets, struggling fierce towards heaven's free wilderness.

If God has spoken, why is the world not convinced.

Whatever strengthens and purifies the affections, enlarges the imagination, and adds spirit to sense, is useful.

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.

To hope till hope creates_x000D_ _x000D_ From its own wreck the thing it contemplates.

My father Time is weak and gray_x000D_ _x000D_ With waiting for a better day;_x000D_ _x000D_ See how idiot-like he stands,_x000D_ _x000D_ Fumbling with his palsied hands!

a single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!