Percy Bysshe Shelley

(1792-1822 / Horsham / England)

The Moon

Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I

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 mood arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.

II

   Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
   Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?


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Read poems about / on: birth, heaven, moon, star, change



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003