To — (Shelley, 3)

From Wikisource
Jump to: navigation, search
To —
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

1.
One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
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.

2.
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?

This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.