What Mary is when she a little smiles
What men gain fairly—that they should possess
‘What think you the dead are?’
What thoughts had sway o’er Cythna’s lonely slumber
What was the shriek that struck Fancy’s ear
When a lover clasps his fairest
When May is painting with her colours gay
When passion’s trance is overpast
When soft winds and sunny skies
When the lamp is shattered
When the last hope of trampled France had failed
When winds that move not its calm surface sweep
Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?
Where man’s profane and tainting hand
Whose is the love that gleaming through the world
Why is it said thou canst not live
Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
Wilt thou forget the happy hours
Worlds on worlds are rolling ever
Would I were the wingèd cloud
Ye congregated powers of heaven, who share
Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud
Ye gentle visitations of calm thought
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there
Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove
Yes! all is past—swift time has fled away
Yes, often when the eyes are cold and dry
Yet look on me—take not thine eyes away
Your call was as a wingèd car
THE MODERN LIBRARY EDITORIAL BOARD
Maya Angelou
•
Daniel J. Boorstin
•
A. S. Byatt
•
Christopher Cerf
•
Shelby Foote
•
Vartan Gregorian
•
Larry McMurtry
•
Edmund Morris
•
John Richardson
•
Arthur Schlesinger, Jr.
•
William Styron
•
Gore Vidal
Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
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