The Motivational Adda

Song Of Proserpine:- Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods and men and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow in scent and hue Fairest children of the Hours, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine -Percy Bysshe Shelley Summary And Theme In the Poem, Shelley is praying to the Greek Goddess Of Underworld, Proserpine . Shelley prays to Goddess and Mother Earth, who Gives Birth to every entity and wants to pray the Goddess Proserpine that your Breathe Gives Them a Life and they all are your Child. In the next lines, Poet Wants To Say That Your mist of Evening Nourish the Flowers until they grow up and scents the world. In Last Lines, the poet again wants to say that, Goddess give life and breathe to their Childs.

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.”                              - P.B.Shelley

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,  From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid  In their noonday dreams.  From my wings are shaken the dews that waken  The sweet buds every one,  When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,  As she dances about the sun.  I wield the flail of the lashing hail,  And whiten the green plains under,  And then again I dissolve it in rain,  And laugh as I pass in thunder.  I sift the snow on the mountains below,  And their great pines groan aghast;  And all the night 'tis my pillow white,  While I sleep in the arms of the blast.  Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,  Lightning my pilot sits;  In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,  It struggles and howls at fits;  Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,  This pilot is guiding me,  Lured by the love of the genii that move  In the depths of the purple sea;  Over the rills, and the crags, and the