eBooks - Poetry - Poetry - Percy Bysshe Shelley - The Witch Of Atlas
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| And o'er thy head did beat its wings for fame, And in thy sight its fading plumes display; The watery bow burned in the evening flame. But the shower fell, the swift Sun went his way-- And that is dead.--O, let me not believe That anything of mine is fit to live! |
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eBooks - Titles - Authors - Poetry - Poetry - Percy Bysshe Shelley - The Witch Of Atlas