5 November, 1817
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
That time is dead forever, child, Drowned, frozen, dead forever! We look on the past; And stare aghast At the spectres, wailing, pale and ghast, Of hopes which thou and I bequiled To death on life's dark river. The stream we gazed on then rolled by; Its waves are unreturning But we yet stand In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears which fade and fly In the light of life's dim morning.