[L]ike thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough year just awake In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyMost wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyThose who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyWhat is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves.
Percy Bysshe Shelley