And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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





Last updated May 02, 2015