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Rating: 3.0
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
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Limon Suyu 19 April 2017
Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood tenk you
0 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 17 April 2017
drops to perfection's remembrance a tear Great conceptualization.
0 0 Reply
Alicia Del Fava 17 April 2017
What a true and beautiful promise in death.
0 0 Reply
Amar Agarwala 17 April 2017
Shelley as always... deep, brooding and full of meaning.
0 0 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 17 April 2017
Floods of despair.... thanks for posting....
0 2 Reply
Tom Allport 17 April 2017
a superb emotional poem of human nature? .......well written
0 0 Reply
Rajnish Manga 17 April 2017
A real masterpiece that creates a sad atmosphere in the wake of heartfelt bereavement. Thanks.
0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 17 April 2017
Foes! Woes! ! Victims. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
0 2 Reply
Ramesh T A 17 April 2017
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!
0 0 Reply
Manonton Dalan 07 December 2015
I always wish my woes will fade
1 5 Reply

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