Percy Bysshe Shelley To the Moon                         I                         Art thou pale for weariness         Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless         Among the stars that have a different birth, --                 And ever changing, like a joyless eye                 That finds no object worth its constancy? II                         Thou chosen sister of the Spirit,         That gazes on thee till in thee it pities ... 1820