Percy Bysshe Shelley

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to read more

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.

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should read more

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.

. . . then black despair
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world read more

. . . then black despair
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone.

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
read more

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.

'Twas his ambition, generous and great
A life to life's great end to consecrate.

'Twas his ambition, generous and great
A life to life's great end to consecrate.