Percy Bysshe Shelley ( 5 of 45 )
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! He hath awaken from the dream of life!
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep! He hath awaken from the dream of life!
O, white innocence,
That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide
Thine awful and serenest read more
O, white innocence,
That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide
Thine awful and serenest countenance
From those who know thee not!
And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.
And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.
Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony.
Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony.
