Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, <br />With beating heart and throbbing breast, <br />Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow, <br />As though the body needed rest.-- <br /> <br />Whose 'wildered eye no object meets, <br />Nor cares to ken a friendly glance, <br />With silent grief his bosom beats,-- <br />Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance. <br /> <br />Who looks around with fearful eye, <br />And shuns all converse with man kind, <br />As though some one his griefs might spy, <br />And soothe them with a kindred mind. <br /> <br />A friend or foe to him the same, <br />He looks on each with equal eye; <br />The difference lies but in the name, <br />To none for comfort can he fly.-- <br /> <br />'Twas deep despair, and sorrow’s trace, <br />To him too keenly given, <br />Whose memory, time could not efface-- <br />His peace was lodged in Heaven.-- <br /> <br />He looks on all this world bestows, <br />The pride and pomp of power, <br />As trifles best for pageant shows <br />Which vanish in an hour. <br /> <br />When torn is dear affection's tie, <br />Sinks the soft heart full low; <br />It leaves without a parting sigh, <br />All that these realms bestow. <br /> <br />JUNE, 1810.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-despair/
