Percy Bysshe Shelley (August 04, 1792 - July 08, 1822)
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Percy Bysshe Shelley in Wikipedia
Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
Faint hearts never win fair ladies.
It is one of the paradoxes of American literature that our writers are forever looking back with love and nostalgia at lives they couldn't wait to leave.
Good things come to those who wait