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남부 영국의 명문 출신으로 이튼을 거쳐 옥스퍼드 대학 재학 중 무신론을 부르짖다 퇴학 당하였다. 1818년 이후부터는 이탈리아에서 지냈다. 그의 시는 흔히 관념적으로 달콤하다는 평을 받으나, 그의 순수한 서정시는 어떤 형으로든지 이상주의 적 혁명에 대한 정열과 연결되어 있는 것으로 보인다.
1811년 여름 해리엇 웨스트브룩이라는 16세의 소녀와 결혼하였다. 무정부주의자이며 자유사상가인 W.고드윈의 강력한 영향을 받아, 정치적 이상을 노래한《매브 여왕 (Queen Mab)》(1813년)을 발표할 무렵, 고드윈의 딸 메리와 친해졌고, 애정 생활의 파탄을 비관한 해리엇은 1816년 투신 자살했다. 그 해 메리와 정식 결혼한 그는 스위스를 여행, 시인 바이런과 알게 되어 교우관계가 시작되었다.
이 무렵의 작품은 ‘고독한 영혼’이란 부제가 붙은 서사시《고독한 영혼(Alastor)》(1816년), 정치시《이슬람의 반란 (The Revolt of Islam)》(1818년), 플라톤의《향연》의 번역 등이다. 영국정부를 비판한《무질서한 가면극》(1819년)과 워즈워스를 풍자한《피터 벨 3세》(1819년)에 이어서, 16세기 로마에서 일어난 근친상간과 살인사건을 소재로 한 시극 대작《첸치 일가》(1819년)와 대표작《사슬에서 풀린 프로메테우스 (Prometheus Unbound)》(1820년)를 발표하였다. 이 대표작이 발표되던 해에 셸리 부처는 이탈리아의 피사에 정착하였고,《서풍의 노래 (Ode to the West Wind)》(1820년)《종달새에 부쳐 (To A Skylark) 1820년》 등 탁월한 서정시를 발표하였다. 1821년에는 이상적인 사랑을 노래한 시《에피사이키디온》, 그리스 독립전쟁에 촉발된 《헬라스 (Hellas)》, 시인 키츠의 죽음을 슬퍼하는 애가《아도나이스 (Adonais)》, 시인의 예언자적 사명을 선언한 시론으로 유명한 《시의 옹호》(1821년) 등이 쓰여졌다.
1818년 이후 이탈리아에서 머문 그는 1822년 7월 8일, 이탈리아의 나폴리 만(灣)에서 요트를 타다가 폭풍을 만나 익사하였다. 향년 30세
출처 : 위키피디아
시집
《불가사의한 산전》 (The Mysterious Bandit) (chapbook) (1815년)
《지적인 아름다움에 대한 찬미》 (Hymn to Intellectual Beauty) (1816년)
《몽블랑》 (Mont Blanc) (1816년)
《이슬람의 반역》 (The Revolt of Islam) (1817년)
《오지만디아스》 ( Ozymandias) (1818년)
《프랑켄슈타인》 (Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus) (1818년)
《서풍에 부치는 노래》(Ode to the West Wind) (1819년)
《혼돈의 가면극》(The Masque of Anarchy) (1819년)
《속박에서 벗어난 프로메테우스》 (Prometheus Unbound) (1820년)
《종달새에게》 (To a Skylark) (1820년
《아도니스》 (Adonaïs) (1821년)
《수줍은 잔디》 (The Sensitive Plant) (1821년)
《노래》 (Song) (1821년) - 엘가 교향곡 2번에 영감을 줌
《구름》 (The Cloud)(1822년)
산문
《무신론의 필요성》 (Necessity of Atheism) (1811년)
《개혁의 철학적 견해》 (A Philosophical View of Reform) (1819년)
《시의 옹호》 (A Defence of Poetry) (1821년)
소설
《자스트로찌》 (Zastrozzi) (1810년) - 고딕 소설
《성 어빈》 ( St Irvyne) (1810년) - 고딕 소설
희곡
비극 《첸치》 (The Cenci)(1819년)
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and 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 Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.
How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood –
Then it will be – good night.
To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last–
That Time long past.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
I
O 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 bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her 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!
II
Thou 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 head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!
III
Thou 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 powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!
IV
If 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 share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As 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.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will 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 Earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of heaven
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight –
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see – we feel that it is there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves:
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Chorus hymeneal
Or triumphal chaunt
Matched with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt –
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now!
10 Hymn To Intellectual Beauty
11 I Arise From Dreams Of Thee
15 Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
27 A Widow Bird Sate Mourning For Her Love
28 Feelings Of A Republican On The Fall Of Bonaparte
30 Asia: From Prometheus Unbound
33 One Word Is Too Often Profaned
34 Prometheus Unbound: Act I (excerpt)
35 Stanzas Written In Dejection Near Naples
40 The Two Spirits: An Allegory
41 Art Thou Pale For Weariness
45 From the Arabic, an Imitation
47 Alastor: or, the Spirit of Solitude
49 Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills
51 Julian and Maddalo (excerpt)
52 The Fitful Alternations Of The Rain
57 Mont Blanc: Lines Writen in the Vale of Chamouni
59 Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats
61 Queen Mab: Part VI (excerpts)
62 And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale
65 Song: Rarely, rarely, comest thou
66 A Summer Evening Churchyard, Lechlade, Gloucestershire
67 One sung of thee who left the tale untold
68 Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici
70 Archy's Song from Charles the First