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Percy Bysshe Shelley - And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale
Work rating: Medium

And like a dying lady, lean and pale, 
    Who totters forth, wrapp`d 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—

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?
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