To The Moon.

A poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

1.
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?

2.
Thou chosen sister of the Spirit,
That grazes on thee till in thee it pities...

Reader Comments

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

comments powered by Disqus