ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Shelley gazes at a painting he thinks is by Leonardo da Vinci, depicting the severed head of Medusa.
The poem
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.] 1. It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine; Below, far lands are seen tremblingly; Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie _5 Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine, Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death. 2. Yet it is less the horror than the grace Which turns the gazer’s spirit into stone, _10 Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace; ’Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain. _15 3. And from its head as from one body grow, As ... grass out of a watery rock, Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow And their long tangles in each other lock, _20 And with unending involutions show Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock The torture and the death within, and saw The solid air with many a ragged jaw. 4. And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft _25 Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes; Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft, And he comes hastening like a moth that hies _30 After a taper; and the midnight sky Flares, a light more dread than obscurity. 5. ’Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror; For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error, _35 Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air Become a ... and ever-shifting mirror Of all the beauty and the terror there— A woman’s countenance, with serpent-locks, Gazing in death on Heaven from those wet rocks. _40 NOTES: _5 seems 1839; seem 1824. _6 shine]shrine 1824, 1839. _26 those 1824; these 1839. *** LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY. [Published by Leigh Hunt, “The Indicator”, December 22, 1819. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Included in the Harvard manuscript book, where it is headed “An Anacreontic”, and dated ‘January, 1820.’ Written by Shelley in a copy of Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1819, and presented to Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820.] 1. 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; _5 All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?— 2. See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; _10 No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth _15 If thou kiss not me? NOTES: _3 mix for ever 1819, Stacey manuscript; meet together, Harvard manuscript. _7 In one spirit meet and Stacey manuscript; In one another’s being 1819, Harvard manuscript. _11 No sister 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; No leaf or 1819. _12 disdained its 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; disdained to kiss its 1819. _15 is all this sweet work Stacey manuscript; were these examples Harvard manuscript; are all these kissings 1819, 1824. *** FRAGMENT: ‘FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD’S WEEDS’. [Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.] Follow to the deep wood’s weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle, And the violet tells her tale To the odour-scented gale, _5 For they two have enough to do Of such work as I and you. ***
Shelley gazes at a painting he thinks is by Leonardo da Vinci, depicting the severed head of Medusa. He feels torn between horror and fascination with its beauty. He contends that it’s not the monster’s ugliness that paralyzes you — it’s the eerie, haunting beauty of her face that does. The poem concludes with a striking image of a lifeless woman's face, surrounded by writhing serpents, looking up at the sky from slick rocks.
Line-by-line
It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, / Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine;
Yet it is less the horror than the grace / Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone,
And from its head as from one body grow, / As ... grass out of a watery rock,
And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft / Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes;
'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror; / For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare
Tone & mood
The tone is both captivated and uneasy — the voice of someone unable to look away from something that troubles them. There’s a real sense of wonder here, but it’s laced with fear. Shelley writes with a focused intensity: the sentences are thick and winding (just like the snakes he describes), creating tension that each stanza eventually relieves. He doesn’t use irony or maintain any distance. Instead, he immerses himself completely in the experience of observing this image and grappling with its impact on him.
Symbols & metaphors
- The Medusa head — The severed head, the poem's central symbol, conveys the notion that beauty and terror are not opposing forces but rather two perspectives of the same reality. It also illustrates art's ability to transform something distressing into something captivating that you can't help but gaze at.
- The serpents / vipers — The snakes aren’t merely terrifying decorations. They illustrate how beauty can be perilous — vibrant, twisting, and deadly — while also emitting the very light that lures creatures (and onlookers) to their own doom.
- Petrification (turning to stone) — Shelley offers a new take on the myth's key moment. Being turned to stone signifies an experience where beauty and terror intertwine to the point that thought ceases. This serves as a metaphor for the immobilizing impact of sublime art.
- The bat and the eft (lizard) — These small creatures represent the human viewer. They are irresistibly drawn to the dangerous light — the bat, much like a moth to a flame — illustrating that the urge to gaze at terrible beauty comes from instinct, not reason.
- The midnight sky — The dark sky surrounds the Medusa head and is changed by it — the sky "flares" with a light that is "more dread than obscurity." Darkness would feel safer; it's the horrifying glow of the Gorgon that makes the night even more frightening than it already is.
- The wet rocks — The final image anchors the poem in a stark, physical reality after all its philosophical musings. The wet rocks serve as a reminder that this is a dead woman's head — mortal, material, and resting in the dark — which makes the beauty described throughout the poem feel even more poignant and unsettling.
Historical context
Shelley wrote this poem after seeing a painting in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence that was once thought to be by Leonardo da Vinci. Today, we know it was created by a Flemish artist, likely in the late 16th century, but misattributions were common during Shelley's era. The painting depicts the severed head of Medusa, the Gorgon from Greek mythology whose gaze could turn people to stone, surrounded by snakes and other creatures. Shelley lived in Italy from 1818 until his death in 1822, immersing himself in Italian art and classical mythology during this time. The poem wasn't published while he was alive; it was included by his wife, Mary Shelley, in *Posthumous Poems* in 1824. It aligns with the Romantic tradition of *ekphrasis*—poetry responding to visual art—and captures the Romantic intrigue with the sublime: the notion that beauty and terror are not opposites but are deeply and unsettlingly connected.
FAQ
It begins with a description of the painting, but soon shifts into a discussion about beauty and terror. Shelley's main focus is the notion that the deepest beauty can also be unsettling—that horror and grace are intertwined rather than opposing forces. The painting serves as his starting point, not the end of his exploration.
He is reinterpreting the Medusa myth to convey a philosophical idea. In the original story, Medusa's ugliness and monstrousness turn people to stone. Shelley presents a different perspective: it's the *grace* in her face — the lingering human beauty that remains even in death, even among the serpents — that is genuinely staggering. You can turn away from pure horror, but beauty intertwined with horror captivates you entirely.
No. The painting Shelley saw in the Uffizi was considered to be by Leonardo during his time, but today’s art historians think it was actually created by a Flemish artist, likely in the late 16th century. This misattribution doesn’t change the poem’s meaning, but it’s interesting to note that Shelley was reacting to what he thought was a Leonardo. The prestige associated with that name influenced his perspective on the work.
It’s Shelley's most concise expression of the poem's core idea. *Tempestuous* refers to something stormy, violent, and overwhelming. He suggests that the beauty here isn’t serene or soft—it’s a forceful beauty that strikes you like a storm, intertwined with the fear it brings. This phrase conveys how the painting evokes two opposing feelings simultaneously, making it impossible to distinguish between them.
Ekphrasis involves crafting a poem (or any form of writing) as a response to a visual artwork — whether that means describing it, interpreting it, or even debating it. This poem serves as a prime example of that practice. Notable works in this genre include Keats's *Ode on a Grecian Urn* and Auden's *Musée des Beaux Arts*. What sets Shelley's version apart is that he goes beyond mere description of the painting; he leverages it to develop a philosophical argument.
The ellipses indicate areas where the manuscript was damaged or hard to read when Mary Shelley got the poem ready for publication after Shelley’s death. Since Shelley never completed or refined the poem himself, some words are unfortunately missing. The gaps in stanzas 3 and 5 stand out the most — editors have speculated over the years, but no one knows for sure what words Shelley meant to include.
They are both creatures irresistibly drawn to the Medusa's perilous light — the bat is explicitly likened to a moth flitting toward a candle flame. Shelley employs them to illustrate that the urge to gaze at something both terrible and beautiful isn't a rational decision; it's instinctual. They reflect the human viewer who can't help but stare at the painting and can't stop reading the poem.
The blend of beauty and terror is a recurring theme in much of Shelley's poetry. You can see this in *Mont Blanc*, where the mountain embodies both the sublime and indifference, and in *Prometheus Unbound*, where suffering and transcendence are inextricably linked. Shelley also had a strong fascination with classical mythology and believed in art's ability to transform painful subjects into something that resonates with us. This poem encapsulates the themes he revisited throughout his career.