𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔶 !

        YOU    EVER    DREAM    THAT    YOU’RE    DYING    SOMEONE    ELSE’S    DEATH    ?  

*  POETRY PROMPTS BY AUTHOR PERCY SHELLEY , FROM A VARIETY OF POEMS .

‘ Live not through the waste of time! ‘

‘ Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine. ‘

‘ In another’s being mingle- Why not I with thine? ‘

‘ No sister flower could be forgiven. If it disdained its brother.  ‘

‘ What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? ‘

‘ Youth says, ‘The purple flowers are mine,’ Which die the while they glow. ‘

‘ Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine. ‘

‘ At first all deadly shapes were driven. ‘

‘ There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still. ‘

‘ Was it aught else, or but the flow, Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro. ‘

‘ The rays of moon or sunlight ne’er endure. ‘

‘ Art thou indeed forever gone, Forever, ever, lost to me? ‘

‘ Must this poor bosom beat alone, Or beat at all, if not for thee? ‘

‘ Yet I do not reproach thee, dear! ‘

‘ This panting breast, this frenzied brain, Might wake my –’s slumb'ring tear. ‘

‘ To blot thee from my memory; But which might never, never be. ‘

‘ Oh! I had never lived before, But now those blisses are no more. ‘

‘ And now I cease to live again, I do not blame thee, love; ah, no! ‘

‘ The breast that feels this anguished woe. ‘

‘ Throbs for thy happiness alone. ‘

‘ Two years of speechless bliss are gone, I thank thee, dearest, for the dream. ‘

‘ ‘Tis night–what faint and distant scream, Comes on the wild and fitful blast?  ‘

‘ It moans for pleasures that are past, It moans for days that are gone by. ‘

‘ Oh! lagging hours, how slow you fly! ‘

‘ I seem again to share thy smile, I seem to hang upon thy tone. ‘

‘ Athwart my enanguished senses flew,  A fiercer, deadlier agony! ‘

‘ How sweet it is to sit and read the tales. ‘

‘ And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. ‘

‘ What is this world’s delight? ‘

‘ Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. ‘

‘ Virtue, how frail it is! ‘

‘ O that a chariot of cloud were mine! ‘

‘ What is Heaven? ‘

‘ A voice out of the deep: I will record the same. ‘

‘ If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? ‘

‘ I weep,–my tears revive it not! ‘

‘ Too pure for these regions, to gleam in the skies. ’

‘ I’d yield to shed a tear,  To shed on the grave of a heart so sincere.  ‘

‘ Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? ‘

‘ With the fears and the love for that which we see? ‘

‘ Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? ‘

‘ When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery. ‘

‘ Misery–O Misery, This world is all too wide for thee. ‘

‘ Here lieth One whose name was writ on water. ‘

‘ And Tyranny, high raised, stern lowers on all? ‘

‘ Let me not madly stain their righteous cause in gore. ‘