What is a poet? Is he not that which wakens
melody in the silent chords of the human
heart? A light which arrays in splendor
things and thoughts which else were dim in
the shadow of their own significance. His
soul is like one of the pools in the Ilex
woods of the Maremma, it reflects the
surrounding universe, but it beautifies,
groups, and mellows their tints, making a
little world within itself, the copy of the
outer one; but more entire, more faultless.
But above all, a poet's soul is Love; the
desire of sympathy is the breath that
inspires his lay, while he lavishes on the
sentiment and its object, his whole
treasure-house of resplendent imagery,
burning emotion, and ardent enthusiasm. He
is the mirror of nature, reflecting her back
ten thousand times more lovely; what then
must not his power be, when he adds beauty
to the most perfect thing in nature—even Love.
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I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts
kneeling beside the thing he had put
together.I saw the hideous phantasm of a
man stretched out, and then, on the working
of some powerful engine, show signs of life,
and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion.
Frightful must it be; for SUPREMELY
frightful would be the effect of any human
endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism
of the Creator of the world.
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Women, Men, Power My dreams were all my own; I accounted
for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed
my dearest pleasure when free.
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Dreams, Free, Nobody Invention, it must be humbly admitted,
does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.
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Mind, Parents, Faculty But I am a blasted tree; the bolt
has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive
to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be a miserable
spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and
intolerable to myself.
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Justice, Charity, Wanting Life and death appeared to me
ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour
a torrent of light into our dark world.
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Life, Death, Dark Elegance is inferior to virtue.
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Virtue, Inferior, Elegance Every political good carried to
the extreme must be productive of evil.
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Life, Hated, Obstinate Nothing contributes so much to
tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose - a point on which
the soul may fix its intellectual eye.
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God, Him, Rather The agony of my feelings allowed me no
respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery
could not extract its food.
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Food, Feelings, Misery And now, once again, I bid my hideous
progeny go forth and prosper. I have an affection for it,
for it was the offspring of happy days, when death and grief
were but words, which found no true echo in my heart.
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Alone, Forward, Personal A king is always a king - and a
woman always a woman: his authority and her sex ever stand
between them and rational converse.
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Sex, Woman, Between It is a farce to call any being virtuous
whose virtues do not result from the exercise of it's own reason.
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Dreams, Once, Fantastic The same energy of character which
renders a man a daring villain would have rendered him useful
in society, had that society been well organized.
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Society, Character, Him The very winds whispered in soothing accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.
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Nature, Weep, Winds What terrified me will terrify others;
and I need only describe the spectre which had haunted my
midnight pillow.
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Others, Describe, Midnight It is hardly surprising that women concentrate on the way they look instead of what is in their
minds since not much has been put in their minds to begin with.
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Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley 8/30/1797-2/1/1851
Godspeed!Steven aka CyPoet(((Sherrie)))