I <br /> <br />AND, like a dying lady lean and pale, <br />Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil, <br />Out of her chamber, led by the insane <br />And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, <br />The mood arose up in the murky east, <br />A white and shapeless mass. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br /> Art thou pale for weariness <br />Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, <br /> Wandering companionless <br />Among the stars that have a different birth, <br />And ever changing, like a joyless eye <br />That finds no object worth its constancy?<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-moon-2/
