He lingered, poring on memorials
Of the world's youth, through the long burning day
Gazed on those speechless shapes. . . .
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Alastor, ll. 121-123
Language is a perpetual Orphic song,
Which rules with Daedal harmony a throng
Of thoughts and forms, which else senseless
and shapeless were.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Prometheus Unbound
Act IV, ll. 415-417