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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: 8 Sep 2008 5:08 AM | Viewed: 3061 times

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