Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822 / Horsham / England)
Fragment: Is It That In Some Brighter Sphere
Is it that in some brighter sphere
We part from friends we meet with here?
Or do we see the Future pass
Over the Present’s dusky glass?
Or what is that that makes us seem
To patch up fragments of a dream,
Part of which comes true, and part
Beats and trembles in the heart?
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