The Waning Moon
Percy Bysshe Shelley
And like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky east, A white and shapeless mass.
![[Poetry X Logo]](http://poetryx.com/images/poetryXLogo.gif)
