Read more poems by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Percy Bysshe Shelley Poems at Poetry X.
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother; And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love; But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the heavens reject not, -- The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?
Added: 20 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 25 Mar 2017 9:27 PM | Viewed: 6761 times
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