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Percy Bysshe Shelley, sorrow, in English Clear filters

SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Buona Notte

'Buona notte, buona notte!'--Come mai La notte sara buona senza te? Non dirmi buona notte,--che tu sai, La notte sa star buona da per se. Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme, La notte quando Lilla m'abbandona; Pei cuori chi si batton insieme Ogni notte, senza dirla, sara buona. Come male buona notte ci suona Con sospiri e parole interrotte!-- Il modo di aver la notte buona E mai non di dir la buona notte.
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

On a Faded Violet

The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on me; The colour from the flower is flown Which glowed of thee and only thee! A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest. I weep,--my tears revive it not! I sigh,--it breathes no more on me; Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be.
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Lines

That time is dead for ever, child! Drowned, frozen, dead for ever! We look on the past And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast, Of hopes which thou and I beguiled To death on life's dark river. The stream we gazed on then rolled by; Its waves are unreturning; But we yet stand In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee In the light of life's dim morning.
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Melody to a Scene of Former Times

Art thou indeed forever gone, Forever, ever, lost to me? Must this poor bosom beat alone, Or beat at all, if not for thee? Ah! why was love to mortals given, To lift them to the height of Heaven, Or dash them to the depths of Hell? Yet I do not reproach thee, dear! Ah, no! the agonies that swell This panting breast, this frenzied brain, Might wake my --'s slumb'ring tear. Oh! Heaven is witness I did love, And Heaven does know I love thee still, Does know the fruitless sick'ning thrill, When reason's judgement vainly strove To blot thee from my memory;
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

To -- [Harriet]

Stern, stern is the voice of fate's fearful command, When accents of horror it breathes in our ear, Or compels us for aye bid adieu to the land, Where exists that loved friend to our bosom so dear, 'Tis sterner than death o'er the shuddering wretch bending, And in skeleton grasp his fell sceptre extending, Like the heart-stricken deer to that loved covert wending, Which never again to his eyes may appear-- And ah! he may envy the heart-stricken quarry, Who bids to the friend of affection farewell, He may envy the bosom so bleeding and gory, He may envy the sound of the drear passing knell, Not so deep is his grief on his death couch reposing, When on the last vision his dim eyes are closing!
ContemplativePercy Bysshe Shelley

Hope

And said I that all hope was fled, That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead, Had sank beneath pale Misery's shrine.-- Seest thou the sunbeam's yellow glow, That robes with liquid streams of light; Yon distant Mountain's craggy brow. And shows the rocks so fair,--so bright-- Tis thus sweet expectation's ray, In softer view shows distant hours, And portrays each succeeding day, As dressed in fairer, brighter flowers,-- The vermeil tinted flowers that blossom; Are frozen but to bud anew, Then sweet deceiver calm my bosom, Although thy visions be not true,--
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Sorrow

To me this world's a dreary blank, All hopes in life are gone and fled, My high strung energies are sank, And all my blissful hopes lie dead.-- The world once smiling to my view, Showed scenes of endless bliss and joy; The world I then but little knew, Ah! little knew how pleasures cloy; All then was jocund, all was gay, No thought beyond the present hour, I danced in pleasure's fading ray, Fading alas! as drooping flower. Nor do the heedless in the throng, One thought beyond the morrow give[,] They court the feast, the dance, the song, Nor think how short their time to live.
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Despair

Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, With beating heart and throbbing breast, Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow, As though the body needed rest.-- Whose 'wildered eye no object meets, Nor cares to ken a friendly glance, With silent grief his bosom beats,-- Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance. Who looks around with fearful eye, And shuns all converse with man kind, As though some one his griefs might spy, And soothe them with a kindred mind. A friend or foe to him the same, He looks on each with equal eye; The difference lies but in the name, To none for comfort can he fly.--
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

The Solitary

Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee spring, And care for none; in thy calm solitude, A flower that scarce breathes in the desert rude To Zephyr's passing wing? Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight. He smiles--'tis sorrow's deadliest mockery; He speaks--the cold words flow not from his soul; He acts like others, drains the genial bowl,-- Yet, yet he longs--although he fears--to die;
SadPercy Bysshe Shelley

Fragment of the Elegy on the Death of Adonis

PROM THE GREEK OF BION. I mourn Adonis dead--loveliest Adonis-- Dead, dead Adonis--and the Loves lament. Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof-- Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown Of Death,--'tis Misery calls,--for he is dead. The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains, His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there. The dark blood wanders o'er his snowy limbs, His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet. A deep, deep wound Adonis... A deeper Venus bears upon her heart. See, his beloved dogs are gathering round--

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