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Three Poems by Shelley [incomplete]

Word count: 295

Song Cycle by Alexander Lang Steinert (1900 - 1982)

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1. The waning moon [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

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And, like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass...

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

2. Ozymandias [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): GER ITA RUS

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Ozymandias", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast [and]1 trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive (stamped on these lifeless things,)
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"[My name is]2 Ozimandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing besides remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.


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Confirmed with The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Volume 2, London, George Bell & Sons, 1892, page 294.

1 omitted by Manno.
2 Manno: "I am"

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

3. To the Nile [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

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Month after month the gathered rains descend
Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells,
And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles
Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend
On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend.
Girt there with blasts and meteors Tempest dwells
By Nile's aereal urn, with rapid spells
Urging those waters to their mighty end.
O'er Egypt's land of Memory floods are level
And they are thine, O Nile--and well thou knowest
That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil
And fruits and poisons spring where'er thou flowest.
Beware, O Man--for knowledge must to thee,
Like the great flood to Egypt, ever be.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

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