Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
I knew that there were crimes and evil men,
Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass
Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.
In mine own heart I saw as in a glass
The hearts of others ... And when
I went among my kind, with triple brass
Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed,
To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woful mass! 

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

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