Death

Percy Bysshe Shelley

1792 to 1822

Poem Image
Track 1

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Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot
Which he so feebly calls—they all are gone—
Thou wilt not be consoled—I wonder not!
For I have seen thee from thy dwelling’s door
Sits near an open grave and calls them over,
Was even as bright and calm, but transitory,
These tombs—alone remain.
These tombs—alone remain.
They die—the dead return not—Misery
This most familiar scene, my pain—
Fond wretch, all dead! those vacant names alone,
This most familiar scene, my pain—
And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary;
Misery, my sweetest friend—oh, weep no more!
They are the names of kindred, friend and lover,
A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye—

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