Percy Bysshe Shelley

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should read more

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.

You must come home with me and be my guest;
You will give joy to me, and I will read more

You must come home with me and be my guest;
You will give joy to me, and I will do
All that is in my power to honour you.

. . . then black despair
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world read more

. . . then black despair
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone.

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure.

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.