Variation Of The Song Of The Moon.

A poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

As a violet's gentle eye
Gazes on the azure sky
Until its hue grows like what it beholds;
As a gray and empty mist
Lies like solid amethyst
Over the western mountain it enfolds,
When the sunset sleeps
Upon its snow;
As a strain of sweetest sound
Wraps itself the wind around
Until the voiceless wind be music too;
As aught dark, vain, and dull,
Basking in what is beautiful,
Is full of light and love -

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Variation Of The Song Of The Moon.' by Percy Bysshe Shelley

comments powered by Disqus