We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
This poem is far more philosophical than it at first seems. It's about the period in youth when we thinking we are as free as anything, suddenly hit a fullstop. And I'm glad this piece of yours brought me back this poem. I think you kept it together in all but the last stanza. Consider re-writing it.
PS. Shelley always wanted to be known a liberate poet. It's ironic that he's known only for his romantic pieces.
I like the message behind the poem, but wasn't excited about it in it's entirety. I really can't say why. I did like the line "Like a dried leaf freed from life". Very nice.
We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
This poem is far more philosophical than it at first seems. It's about the period in youth when we thinking we are as free as anything, suddenly hit a fullstop. And I'm glad this piece of yours brought me back this poem. I think you kept it together in all but the last stanza. Consider re-writing it.
PS. Shelley always wanted to be known a liberate poet. It's ironic that he's known only for his romantic pieces.
For me, there is no perfect liberty except when we truly find liberty that describes for us what liberty is. Liberty is different and judge differently by people yet absolute liberty lies within us. Let our liberty not distort the true meaning of liberty to emancipate us from the bondage of our liberty known to ourselves.