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Ode To The West Wind Analysis



Author: Poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley Type: Poetry Views: 6916

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IO wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: 0 thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave,until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odours plain and hill:Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!IIThou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,

Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,

Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

On the blue surface of thine airy surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the headOf some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

Of the horizon to the zenith's height,

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirgeOf the dying year, to which this closing night

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre

Vaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapours, from whose solid atmosphere

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!IIIThou who didst waken from his summer dreams

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

Quivering within the wave's intenser day,All overgrown with azure moss and flowers

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou

For whose path the Atlantic's level powersCleave themselves into chasms, while far below

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear

The sapless foliage of the ocean, knowThy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!IVIf I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and shareThe impulse of thy strength, only less free

Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even

I were as in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.VMake me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

What if my leaves are falling like its own!

The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!

And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

Be through my lips to unawakened EarthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?





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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

can u please tell me critical appreciation of ode to west wind.

| Posted on 2010-03-09 | by a guest


.: :.

excellent poetry really a masterpiece of sir shelley

| Posted on 2009-07-13 | by a guest


.: :.

IO wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: 0 thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!IIThou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the headOf some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirgeOf the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!IIIThou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powersCleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, knowThy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!IVIf I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and shareThe impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.VMake me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened EarthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?



| Posted on 2007-02-12 | by a guest


.: jj :.

IO wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: 0 thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!IIThou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the headOf some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirgeOf the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated mightOf vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!IIIThou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powersCleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, knowThy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!IVIf I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and shareThe impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.VMake me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened EarthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

| Posted on 2005-04-08 | by Approved Guest




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