The Waning Moon
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass.
More Poems by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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By Percy Bysshe Shelley
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By Percy Bysshe Shelley
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By Percy Bysshe Shelley
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By Percy Bysshe Shelley
