<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478288" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song. Despair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'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.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">JUNE, 1810.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478288" data-title="Song. Despair de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, With beating heart and throbbing breast, Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow, As though the body needed rest.-- Whose 'wildered eye no object meets, Nor cares to ken a friendly glance, With silent grief his..."></div> </div> </div>

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