Megan McCormack '17, Journalism major

"To the Moon"
by Percy Shelley

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 ...

This is my favorite poem for no reason other than I think it's beautiful and as someone who tries (and fails) to fathom the immensity and complexity of the moon, stars, and heavens above, this poem has always held a special place in my heart. What must it be like to be such a source of life and energy, and yet have to go about life on your own? Existing in your own capacity, for all to admire, but none to ever fully grasp? It goes beyond all human comprehension, and it is magical because of that.

edit