To The Moon

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, -
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Comments (1)

A sextet of one stanza. Poem rooted in good rhyme. Well done! Sylva.