{"id":1462,"date":"2007-04-24T18:52:08","date_gmt":"2007-04-24T18:52:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.srichinmoypoetry.com\/library\/the-poet-seers\/shelley\/"},"modified":"2012-03-06T13:41:44","modified_gmt":"2012-03-06T13:41:44","slug":"shelley","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.srichinmoypoetry.com\/?page_id=1462","title":{"rendered":"Shelley"},"content":{"rendered":"

O life filled with romance,<\/p>\n

O man flooded with poetry-light,<\/p>\n

Thy volcano-will devoure<\/p>\n

Thy critics’ python-night.<\/p>\n

Thy “Ode to the Skylark”<\/p>\n

And “Prometheus Unbound”,<\/p>\n

“Adonais”, tearful Adonais,<\/p>\n

On all brain-fields shall be found.<\/p>\n

While sailing thy boat lost thee,<\/p>\n

A sad story, indeed.<\/p>\n

But thy pen’s heights and depths<\/p>\n

Remained, the world to feed.<\/p>\n

 Excerpt from Philosopher-Thinkers: The Power-Towers Of The Mind And Poet-Seers: The Fragrance-Hours Of The Heart In The West<\/i>  by Sri Chinmoy<\/a><\/p>\n

Quotes by Shelley<\/h2>\n

\nA man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

All love is sweet, Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever. They who inspire is most are fortunate, As I am now: but those who feel it most Are happier still.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

All of us, who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Change is certain. Peace is followed by disturbances; departure of evil men by their return. Such recurrences should not constitute occasions for sadness but realities for awareness, so that one may be happy in the interim.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Concerning God, freewill and destiny: Of all that earth has been or yet may be, all that vain men imagine or believe, or hope can paint or suffering may achieve, we descanted.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Familiar acts are beautiful through love.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Government is an evil; it is only the thoughtlessness and vices of men that make it a necessary evil. When all men are good and wise, government will of itself decay.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

He has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again; from the contagion of the world’s slow stain, he is secure.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

How wonderful is death! Death and his brother sleep.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred; it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect.\n<\/p>\n

~<\/p>\n

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.\n<\/p>\n