Percy Bysshe Shelley

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to read more

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.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books read more

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skilled to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only read more

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

Around, around in ceaseless circles wheeling
With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed
Incessantly.

Around, around in ceaseless circles wheeling
With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed
Incessantly.