Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822 / Horsham / England)

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And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale

And 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--Credits and CopyrightTogether with the editors, the Department ofEnglish (University of Toronto), and the University of Toronto Press,the following individuals share copyright for the work that wentinto this edition:Screen Design (Electronic Edition): Sian Meikle (University ofToronto Library)Scanning: Sharine Leung (Centre for Computing in the Humanities)

Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004


Read poems about / on: work, moon

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  • Rue H (11/5/2004 4:17:00 AM)

    What on Earth happened to the second half of this poem?

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