text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id "And is this death?--The pyre has disappeared,
The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng;
The flames grow silent--slowly there is heard
The music of a breath-suspending song,
Which, like the kiss of love when life is young,
Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep;
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
.
(XII, 4594-602)",2009-09-14 19:46:50 UTC,"""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""",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"Canto XII, Stanza 17","",,"","•I've included thrice: Melody, Wave, Sand.","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",16424,6203