Returning from its daily quest, my Spirit <br />Changed thoughts and vile in thee doth weep to find: <br />It grieves me that thy mild and gentle mind <br />Those ample virtues which it did inherit <br />Has lost. Once thou didst loathe the multitude <br />Of blind and madding men--I then loved thee-- <br />I loved thy lofty songs and that sweet mood <br />When thou wert faithful to thyself and me <br />I dare not now through thy degraded state <br />Own the delight thy strains inspire--in vain <br />I seek what once thou wert--we cannot meet <br />And we were wont. Again and yet again <br />Ponder my words: so the false Spirit shall fly <br />And leave to thee thy true integrity.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-from-the-italian-of-cavalcanti/
