Commerce has set the mark of selfishness, the signet of its all-enslaving power, upon a shining ore, and called it gold: before whose image bow the vulgar great, the vainly rich, the miserable proud, the mob of peasants, nobles, priests, and kings, and with blind feelings reverence the power that grinds them to the dust of misery.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyO 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.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyIt is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyI arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me- who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
Percy Bysshe Shelley