human
To see the sun shining on its bright grass, and hear the whispering of the wind among the leaves of the trees, which have overgrown the tomb of Cestius, and the soil which is stirring in the sun-warm earth, and to mark the tombs, mostly of women and young children, who, buried there, we might, if we were to die, desire a sleep they seem to sleep.
gpt
Eternal Child. Oh, Shelley! To me it was not given to know thy face, Save through the mirrored pages of thy works; Those whisper'd words of wood and wave, are to mine ears, Sweet as the music of ocean's roar, that breaks on sheltered shores. Thy sterner words of Justice, Love and Truth, Will to the struggling soul a beacon prove, And barrier against the waves of tyranny and craft. Then rest,