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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.