To ----

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

1792-1822


ONE word is too often profaned
         For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdain'd
         For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
         For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
         Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love:
         But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
         And the heavens reject not,
The desire of the moth for the star,
         Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
         From the sphere of our sorrow?

DayPoems Poem No. 567
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/567.html">To ---- by Percy Bysshe Shelley</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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