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?
More verses by Percy Bysshe Shelley
- On Death
- Archy's Song From Charles The First (A Widow Bird Sate Mourning For Her Love)
- Hymn To Intellectual Beauty
- Prometheus Unbound: Act I (Excerpt)
- And Like A Dying Lady, Lean And Pale