Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
More verses by Percy Bysshe Shelley
- To The Moonbeam
- The Birth Place Of Pleasure
- Fragment: Wedded Souls
- The Aziola
- Song. -- Fierce Roars The Midnight Storm