Mention768536
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| so:text | Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. (en) |
| so:isPartOf | https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Percy_Bysshe_Shelley |
| qkg:hasContext | qkg:Context378668 |
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Triples where Mention768536 is the object (without rdf:type)
| qkg:Quotation728644 | qkg:hasMention |
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