And there the body lay, age after age,
Mute, breathing, beating, warm and undecaying
Like one asleep in a green hermitage
With gentle smiles about its eyelids playing
And living in its dreams beyond the rage
Of death or life, while they were still arraying
In liveries ever new, the rapid, blind
And fleeting generations of mankind. (LXXI.609-616)
Happy birthday, Shelley. You're 213 today.
Weird. You're so weird.
*
Leave flowers on his grave.
*
