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Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Rough wind, the moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, —
Wail, for the world's wrong!
--
A Dirge (1821).

 
Percy Bysshe Shelley

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