A dream has power to poison sleep.
The One remains, the many change and pass;_x000D_ _x000D_ Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;_x000D_ _x000D_ Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,_x000D_ _x000D_ Stains the white radiance of Eternity,_x000D_ _x000D_ Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the transient nature of life and the enduring essence of existence amidst inevitable change.
Percy Bysshe Shelley's quote highlights the contrast between the eternal and the ephemeral aspects of our reality. While 'the One' symbolizes a constant truth or essence that endures beyond time, 'the many' represents the fleeting experiences and changes we encounter in our lives. The imagery of life as a dome of colored glass suggests that our perceptions and experiences can distort or stain the purity of eternal truths. Ultimately, death is portrayed as the force that shatters these illusions, bringing clarity to the permanence of existence.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion about the transient nature of life, one could use this quote to emphasize the importance of recognizing enduring truths.
More from Percy Bysshe Shelley
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.
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.
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.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
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