A dream has power to poison sleep.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects the cycle of life, death, and rebirth in nature, emphasizing transformation and resilience.
In this poetic excerpt, Shelley personifies nature as a living entity that is born from and nurtured by Earth and Water, while also being a child of the Sky. The imagery conveys the constant cycle of change and renewal, illustrating how life continuously transforms and evolves, yet remains inherently tied to its origins. The lines emphasize that while physical forms may perish, the essence of nature endures, capable of regenerating and recreating itself, much like the enduring beauty of the natural world after a storm.
Themes
NatureTransformationLifeRebirthResilience
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a speech about environmental conservation.
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All quotes →Senseless is the breast and cold _x000D_ _x000D_ Which relenting love would fold;_x000D_ _x000D_ Bloodless are the veins and chill _x000D_ _x000D_ Which the pulse of pain did fill; _x000D_ _x000D_ Every little living nerve _x000D_ _x000D_ That from bitter words did swerve _x000D_ _x000D_ Round the tortur'd lips and brow, _x000D_ _x000D_ Are like sapless leaflets now _x000D_ _x000D_ Frozen upon December's bough.
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A sensitive plant in a garden grew,_x000D_ _x000D_ And the young winds fed it with silver dew,_x000D_ _x000D_ And it opened its fan_x000D_ _x000D_ like leaves to the light,_x000D_ _x000D_ and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
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