I
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
Part of From the Original Draft of the Poem to William Shelley
The world is now our dwelling-place;
Where'er the earth one fading trace
Of what was great and free does keep,
That is our home!...
Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race
Shall our contented exile reap;
For who that in some happy place
His own free thoughts can freely chase
By woods and waves can clothe his face
In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep.