I think "Ode to the West Wind" is brighter, sunnier and more positive, and "To a Lark" is more lyrical?
I?
The swarthy west wind,? You are the breath of twilight,?
Because of your invisible presence,? The dead leaves fled in all directions,?
Like the devil seeing a sorcerer,? They fled;?
These leaves,? There are black and white,? red and yellow.
Like a plague-stricken community,? Oh, what? You, huh?
West wind,? You make the seed spread its wings,?
Fly down to the dark winter bed,? And lay down cold,?
Like a body buried deep in a grave,? Until?
Your azure-blue sisters return home in triumph,?
Blowing her horn to the sleeping earth,?
And urged the buds,? like a flock of sheep that is driven to graze,?
Let the hills be filled with the fragrant hues of life;?
The swashbuckling spirit,? Thou art in all directions,?
Oh, listen,? You're destroying, and you're preserving! And you're preserving!
Two?
In your turbulence,? In the tumult of the heights,?
The straggling clouds are like fluttering and falling leaves,?
Thou art from the trees where the sky and the sea are intertwined?
Shaking out angels that convey thunderstorms as well as lightning;?
On the azure surface of your gaseous waves,?
And like the head of a priestess of the wine goddesses, strands of?
Shining threads,? From the hazy horizon?
To the top of the sky,? All spread out?
The curls of a coming storm,?
You are an elegy for the dying years,?
The fourfold night,? is the vault of a great tomb,?
It is built on the spirit that you have gathered,?
But from your solidity it will burst?
Black rain, fire and hail;? Oh! Hear!
Three?
Thou, O thou, hast taken the blue Mediterranean from its summer dreams. Have brought the blue Mediterranean Sea out of its summer dream?
Wake up the blue Mediterranean,? It has been lulled to sleep by clear water,?
It has been lying in that place,? Sleeping soundly,?
Sleeping beside a rocky island in the Bay of Bays,?
And in his sleep he saw the old palaces and the towers?
They tremble gently in the waves of the sea under the hot sun,?
And they were all full of flowers,? and covered with moss,?
The intoxicating aroma that emanates from them is indescribable!
When I see you,? The waters of the Atlantic Ocean have been split wide open,?
Make way for you,? And in the depths of the sea,?
A jungle of silt with no pulp in its branches?
and countless seaflowers and corals,? Once you've heard it, you'll be able to hear it.
Your voice,? Each one of them is suddenly frightened,?
Trembling, like a looter. As if they'd been robbed. Oh, what? Hear!
Four?
If I were a dead leaf that you would roll,?
If I were a cloud that flew with you,?
Or a wave of water gasping under your might?
Sharing in your strong beat,? And you are at your ease,?
O unruly wind,? If not as free as you,?
Or perhaps,? If I could be like my childhood days,?
If I could accompany you as you roamed the land of the sky?
It's not a fantasy to fly faster than you -?
Then I will never ask you so bitterly:?
Ah,? Roll me up! As a wave is rolled up, or as a wave is rolled up, or as a wave is rolled up.
Or as a sweeping leaf, or as a driving cloud!
I leap into the thorns of life,? I have been bleeding!
The weight of the years has bound my soul,?
It is too much like you: agile, proud, untamed.?
Five?
Take me for a lyre,? Like the grove,?
Even if the leaves around me fall likewise!?
With the wild passion of an extraordinary harmony?
Make me and the woods play the majestic music of autumn,?
Sad and sweet. Raging spirits, yo,?
May you and my swift souls fit together!?
Scatter my rigid thoughts throughout the universe,?
Like dead leaves driven to urge new life!
And,? By the spell of my poem,?
Transmit my words to all the people of the world,?
Like a spark from an unquenched furnace!
Let the trumpet of prophecy pass through my lips?
Blow it to the drowsy earth!? Oh,? O wind,?
If winter comes,? Will spring be far away?
To the LarkHello, spirit of joy!
You seem never to have been a bird of prey, and from heaven or heaven's neighborhood, you pour out your heartfelt love with hearty musicality, and unadorned art.It's a great pleasure to see you.
Upward, and upward again to the heights, from the ground you leap, like a fiery light cloud, sweeping over the heart of the azure sky, ever singing and flying, flying and singing.? The sun on the horizon, radiating golden rays of electricity, the clear sky is filled with clouds, and you are flying in the sunlight, as if the joy of the unseen has just begun its swift expedition. The light purple dawn, like a light cloud of fire, sweeps across the heart of the blue sky, singing and singing forever. The pale purple dawn melted around your voyage, like stars in the daytime sky, and although you were not seen, you could hear your joyful voice -? That sharp and unmistakable music, Like arrows of silver starlight, Its strong bright light, Dimmed in the morning sun, Till indistinguishable, yet felt in space.? The whole earth and atmosphere, resonates with your melodious voice, as if in the desolate darkness of the night, from behind a solitary cloud, the bright moon shoots out its rays, and the clear light overflows the universe.? We don't know, what are you, what resembles you most? Nor from the neon-like haze can rain of such beauty be compared to the musical rain that fell when you appeared. Like a poet, invisible in the bright light of thought, reciting improvised rhymes, until the sympathies of the whole world are awakened by unnoticed hopes and worries. Like a noble maiden, Dwelling in the palace tower, In moments of loneliness, Dispelling her love's bitter feelings, Sweet as love's song, overflowing out of the chambers;? Like a golden firefly, in the dewy valley, not showing its tracks, spreading the crystal light, in the grass and flowers that blocked our view;? Like a rose that shades its green leaves, And suffers the ravages of the hot wind, Till its fragrance Intoxicates the reckless flyer with its overpowering sweetness;? The crystalline glittering grass, The sound of spring rains spilling, The petals of flowers awakening from the rain, Calling all that is bright, joyous, and fresh, less than your music.? Birds of prey or sprites, what sweet thoughts are in your heart? I never heard A carol of love or simple wine To burst forth in such holy streams of blissful sound.? The chorus of wedding praises, the song of triumph, compared to your music, is nothing but air-conditioned pomposity, in which one can perceive that there is always a paucity. What kind of object, or what kind of object, is it that you want to see? What object or event, is the source of your joyful music? What fields, waves, and mountains? What airy land forms? Is it your love for your kind, or your insulation from pain? There is your clear and intense cheerfulness. Tiredness never comes, the shadow of trouble never comes near you, you love, but never know the sadness of being overly full of love.? Whether waking or sleeping, you must have a deeper understanding of death than we mortals ever dreamed of, or else how could the stream of your music flow like a liquid crystal bucket? We look forward and backward, and bother ourselves with things that don't exist, our sincerest smiles are intertwined with some kind of anguish, and our most beautiful music is the most mournful of tunes. But even if we could renounce hatred, pride, and fear, even if we were born not to shed a single tear, I do not know how we could ever come nearer to your merriment. Sweeter and more wonderful than all the tones of joy, richer and more abundant than all the treasures of books, such is the skill of Thy art, O Thou who hast despised the dust.? Teach me half, and your heart must be acquainted with joy, harmony, and burning passion and it will flow out of my lips, and the world will be like me at this moment - listening with sideways ears.?I don't know about you, but everyone feels differently.
That picture is Shelley's handwriting from "To a Lark"