In the Dark

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?

by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822).

This entry was posted on September 8, 2012 at 9:45 am and is filed under Poetry, The Universe and Stuff with tags Percy Bysshe Shelley, Poetry, To the Moon. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.