A Dirge by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I found a volume of Shelley’s poetry in my bookcase, also. (By the way, no poem tomorrow because I’ll be without a computer or internet.)
A Dirge
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main,
Wail, for the world’s wrong!
