How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.
Foes! Woes! ! Victims. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A real masterpiece that creates a sad atmosphere in the wake of heartfelt bereavement. Thanks.
A Wonderful poem by Shelley written in despair about the dissipation of a nice dream life and feels much when the good time come once again in life!
drops to perfection's remembrance a tear Great conceptualization.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I always wish my woes will fade