O that a chariot of cloud were mine!
Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in air,
When the moon over the ocean’s line
Is spreading the locks of her bright gray hair.
O that a chariot of cloud were mine! 5
I would sail on the waves of the billowy wind
To the mountain peak and the rocky lake,
And the...
More verses by Percy Bysshe Shelley
- With A Guitar, To Jane
- Queen Mab: Part Iv.
- Sonnet: Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
- Invocation To Misery
- Pater Omnipotens