The Waning Moon.

A poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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 -

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Waning Moon.' by Percy Bysshe Shelley

comments powered by Disqus