Percy Bysshe Shelley

(1792-1822 / Horsham / England)

A Dirge - Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main,--
Wail, for the world’s wrong!


Comments about A Dirge by Percy Bysshe Shelley

  • Indira Renganathan (11/7/2016 8:10:00 AM)


    Nature does weep over the wrong deeds of the world.....gets wild and attacks with disasters....Shelley is too eminent- 10 (Report) Reply

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  • (1/5/2012 10:49:00 AM)


    MEEF MEEF....... MEEF MEEF (Report) Reply

  • (1/5/2012 10:48:00 AM)


    Boy, this sure is a swell poem! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 1, 2010

Poem Edited: Monday, May 9, 2011


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