The Grave Of Shelley
Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone; Here doth the little night-owl make her throne, And the slight lizard show his jewelled head. And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red, In the still chamber of yon pyramid Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid, Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead. Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep, But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb In the blue cavern of an echoing deep, Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep. ROME.
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"Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed..."
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Grave Of Shelley"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...