Percy Bysshe Shelley

Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung.

Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung.

There is no real wealth but the labor of man.

There is no real wealth but the labor of man.

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to read more

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.

Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
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Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Those who inflict must suffer, for they see
The work of their own hearts, and that must be
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Those who inflict must suffer, for they see
The work of their own hearts, and that must be
Our chastisement or recompense.