THE MOON
by: Percy Bysshe Shelley
(1792-1822)
- I.
-
- ND, like
a dying lady lean and pale,
- Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
- Out of her chamber, led by the insane
- And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
- The moon arose up in the murky east
- A white and shapeless mass.
-
- II.
-
- Art thou pale for weariness
- Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
- Wandering companionless
- Among the stars that have a different birth,
- And ever changing, like a joyless eye
- That finds no object worth its constancy?
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