Percy Bysshe Shelley

And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.

And many an ante-natal tomb
When butterflies dream of the life to come.

The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another read more

The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge, another bears.

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
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January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.

Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
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Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony.