Fragment Of A Ghost Story.

A shovel of his ashes took
From the hearth's obscurest nook,
Muttering mysteries as she went.
Helen and Henry knew that Granny
Was as much afraid of Ghosts as any,
And so they followed hard -
But Helen clung to her brother's arm,
And her own spasm made her shake.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley was one of the major English Romantic poets, widely regarded as one of the greatest lyric and philosophical poets in the English language. Born on August 4, 1792, Shelley was a key member of a close circle of visionary poets and writers that included Lord Byron, Leigh Hunt, Thomas Love Peacock, and his own wife, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein. His poetic themes mainly explored radical social reform, personal liberation, and the power of human creativity and imagination. Tragically, he died young at the age of 29 in a boating accident in 1822. Though he faced criticism during his lifetime, his work garnered acclaim posthumously.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ghasta Or, The Avenging Demon!!!

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

With A Guitar, To Jane.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

Fragment: 'What Men Gain Fairly'.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

An Ode, Written October, 1819, Before The Spaniards Had Recovered Their Liberty.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

English

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Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou
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Fragment.

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson.

Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor.

[The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]



Fragment.

Yes! all is past - swift time has fled away,
Yet its swell pauses on my sickening mind;
How long will horror nerve this frame of clay?
I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul behind.
Oh! powerful Fate, revoke thy deadly spell,
And yet that may not ever, ever be,
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Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: 'A Gentle Story Of Two Lovers Young'.

A gentle story of two lovers young,
Who met in innocence and died in sorrow,
And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clung
Like curses on them; are ye slow to borrow
The lore of truth from such a tale?
Or in this world's deserted vale,
Do ye not see a star of gladness
Pierce the shadows of its sadness, -
When ye are cold, that love is a light sent
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Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: The Sepulchre Of Memory.

And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee
Has been my heart - and thy dead memory
Has lain from childhood, many a changeful year,
Unchangingly preserved and buried there.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: Home.

Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys,
The least of which wronged Memory ever makes
Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: 'My Head Is Wild With Weeping'.

My head is wild with weeping for a grief
Which is the shadow of a gentle mind.
I walk into the air (but no relief
To seek, - or haply, if I sought, to find;
It came unsought); - to wonder that a chief
Among men's spirits should be cold and blind.

Percy Bysshe Shelley