Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Stanza, Written At Bracknell

Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;
     Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest
     That was the portion of despair!
Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
     I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul
     Had cankered then—but crushed it not. 

1. The Fitful Alternations of the Rain
2. From the Arabic, an Imitation
3. I Would Not Be A King
4. Wine Of The Fairies
5. Bereavement

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