Fragment: 'Wake The Serpent Not'.

Wake the serpent not - lest he
Should not know the way to go, -
Let him crawl which yet lies sleeping
Through the deep grass of the meadow!
Not a bee shall hear him creeping,
Not a may-fly shall awaken
From its cradling blue-bell shaken,
Not the starlight as he's sliding
Through the grass with silent gliding.

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

Fragment: A Serpent-Face.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

The Past.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

To Mary (On Her Objecting To 'The Witch Of Atlas', Upon The Score Of Its Containing No Human Interest).

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

Love, Hope, Desire, And Fear.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Simple Poetry

English

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Fragment: Apostrophe To Silence.

Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou
Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged
Of one abyss, where life, and truth, and joy
Are swallowed up - yet spare me, Spirit, pity me,
Until the sounds I hear become my soul,
And it has left these faint and weary limbs,
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Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: Omens.

Hark! the owlet flaps his wings
In the pathless dell beneath;
Hark! 'tis the night-raven sings
Tidings of approaching death.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: A Serpent-Face.

His face was like a snake's - wrinkled and loose
And withered -

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: 'Unrisen Splendour Of The Brightest Sun'.

Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun,
To rise upon our darkness, if the star
Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne
Could thaw the clouds which wage an obscure war
With thy young brightness!

Percy Bysshe Shelley

A Fragment: To Music.

Silver key of the fountain of tears,
Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;
Softest grave of a thousand fears,
Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child,
Is laid asleep in flowers.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment: The Lake's Margin.

The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses
Track not the steps of him who drinks of it;
For the light breezes, which for ever fleet
Around its margin, heap the sand thereon.

Percy Bysshe Shelley