TO MARY SHELLEY.

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone,

And left me in this dreary world alone?

Thy form is here indeed — a lovely one —

But thou art fled, gone down the dreary road,

That leads to Sorrow's most obscure abode;

Thou sittest on the hearth of pale despair,

Where

For thine own sake I cannot follow thee.