“I vow'd that I would dedicate my powers
To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow?
With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Each from his voiceless grave: they have in vision'd bowers
Of studious zeal or love's delight
Outwatch'd with me the envious night:
They know that never joy illum'd my brow
Unlink'd with hope that thou wouldst free
This world from its dark slavery,
That thou, O awful LOVELINESS,
Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.”

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

St. 6
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty (1816)

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Percy Bysshe Shelley 246

English Romantic poet 1792–1822

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“Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others.
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Variant translation:[citation needed]
If you want to know yourself,
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“This living hand, now warm and capable
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“I'll thank thee when approaching death
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“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
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Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art,
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“Also, for more understanding, this blessed word was said: Lo, how I loved thee! Behold and see that I loved thee so much ere I died for thee that I would die for thee; and now I have died for thee and suffered willingly that which I may. And now is all my bitter pain and all my hard travail turned to endless joy and bliss to me and to thee. How should it now be that thou shouldst anything pray that pleaseth me but that I should full gladly grant it thee? For my pleasing is thy holiness and thine endless joy and bliss with me.
This is the understanding, simply as I can say it, of this blessed word: Lo, how I loved thee. This shewed our good Lord for to make us glad and merry.”

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“When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might’st him yet recover.”

Michael Drayton (1563–1631) English poet

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To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
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Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:
Go by, go by.”

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Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) American author, poet, editor and literary critic

then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love — a simple duty.
" To Frances S. Osgood http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/595/" (1845).

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Percy Bysshe Shelley 246

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