Author Percy Bysshe Shelley My head is wild with weeping for a grief Which is the shadow of a gentle mind. I walk into the air (but no relief To seek,--or haply, if I sought, to find; It came unsought);--to wonder that a chief Among men’s spirits should be cold and blind. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments