* * *

Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

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? 

 * * *

Wealth and dominion fade into the mass

Of the great sea of human right and wrong,

When once from our possession they must pass;

But love, though misdirected, is among

The things which are immortal, and surpass 

All that frail stuff which will be--or which was. 

* * *

And who feels discord now or sorrow?

Love is the universe to-day--

These are the slaves of dim to-morrow,

Darkening Life's labyrinthine way.