Date: 1817

"The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, / Chacing away all worldliness and folly; / Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, Or the low rumblings earth's regions under; / And sometimes like a gentle whispering / Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing / That breathes about u...

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1817, 1818

"Yet in my hollow looks and withered mien / The likeness of a shape for which was braided / The brightest woof of genius, still was seen."

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"'twas her lover's face-- / It might resemble her--it once had been / The mirror of her thoughts, and still the grace / Which her mind's shadow cast, left there a lingering trace"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"My mind became the book through which I grew / Wise in all human wisdom"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"My mind became the book through which I grew / Wise in all human wisdom, and its cave, / Which like a mine I rifled through and through, / To me the keeping of its secrets gave"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

There is "One mind, the type of all, the moveless wave / Whose calm reflects all moving things that are"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"With ever-changing notes it floats along, / Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep / A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817

"Not until my dream became / Like a child's legend on the tideless sand. / Which the first foam erases half, and half / Leaves legible"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"Look on your mind--it is the book of fate-- / Ah! it is dark with many a blazoned name / Of misery--all are mirrors of the same"

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)

Date: 1817, 1818

"But the dark fiend who with his iron pen / Dipped in scorn's fiery poison, makes his fame / Enduring there, would o'er the heads of men / Pass harmless, if they scorned to make their hearts his den."

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)