Percy Shelley
Ozymandias BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . .
Ozymandias BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
Ozymandias BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
Ozymandias BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Ozymandias BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
To a Skylark
1 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
2 Bird thou never wert,
3 That from Heaven, or near it,
4 Pourest thy full heart
5 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
6 Higher still and higher
7 From the earth thou springest
8 Like a cloud of fire;
9 The blue deep thou wingest,
10 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
From “To the Skylark” - Wordsworth
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
11 In the golden lightning
12 Of the sunken sun,
13 O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
14 Thou dost float and run;
15 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
16 The pale purple even
17 Melts around thy flight;
18 Like a star of Heaven,
19 In the broad day-light
20 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
21 Keen as are the arrows
22 Of that silver sphere,
23 Whose intense lamp narrows
24 In the white dawn clear
25 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
26 All the earth and air
27 With thy voice is loud,
28 As, when night is bare,
29 From one lonely cloud
30 The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.
31 What thou art we know not;
32 What is most like thee?
33 From rainbow clouds there flow not
34 Drops so bright to see
35 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
36 Like a Poet hidden
37 In the light of thought,
38 Singing hymns unbidden,
39 Till the world is wrought
40 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
41 Like a high-born maiden
42 In a palace-tower,
43 Soothing her love-laden
44 Soul in secret hour
45 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
46 Like a glow-worm golden
47 In a dell of dew,
48 Scattering unbeholden
49 Its aerial hue
50 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:
from “To a Mouse” Robert Burns
“Still, thou [the mouse] art blest, compar’d wi’ me!�The present only toucheth thee:�But Och! I backward cast my e’e,� On prospects drear!�An’ forward tho’ I canna see,”