poet Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley

#57 on top 500 poets

The Waning Moon

And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapped 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.

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Rating Card

2,7 out of 5
27 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about The Waning Moon by Percy Bysshe Shelley

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: moon