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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478341" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sunset</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There late was One within whose subtle being,<br>As light and wind within some delicate cloud<br>That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,<br>Genius and death contended. None may know<br>The sweetness of the joy which made his breath<br>Fail, like the trances of the summer air,<br>When, with the Lady of his love, who then<br>First knew the unreserve of mingled being,<br>He walked along the pathway of a field<br>Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er,<br>But to the west was open to the sky.<br>There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold<br>Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points<br>Of the far level grass and nodding flowers<br>And the old dandelion's hoary beard,<br>And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay<br>On the brown massy woods -- and in the east<br>The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose<br>Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,<br>While the faint stars were gathering overhead--<br>'Is it not strange, Isabel,' said the youth,<br>'I never saw the sun? We will walk here<br>To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That night the youth and lady mingled lay<br>In love and sleep--but when the morning came<br>The lady found her lover dead and cold.<br>Let none believe that God in mercy gave<br>That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild,<br>But year by year lived on--in truth I think<br>Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,<br>And that she did not die, but lived to tend<br>Her agèd father, were a kind of madness,<br>If madness 'tis to be unlike the world.<br>For but to see her were to read the tale<br>Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts<br>Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;--<br>Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:<br>Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,<br>Her lips and cheeks were like things dead--so pale;<br>Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins<br>And weak articulations might be seen<br>Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self<br>Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,<br>Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Inheritor of more than earth can give,<br>Passionless calm and silence unreproved,<br>Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,<br>And are the uncomplaining things they seem,<br>Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;<br>Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were-- Peace!'<br>This was the only moan she ever made.</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>
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<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=478341" data-title="The Sunset de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath
Fail, like the trances..."></div>
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