If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? - Percy Bysshe Shelley

(Title: To the Moon)
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?

What if English toil and blood Was poured forth, even as a flood? It availed, Oh, Liberty, To dim, but not extinguish thee.

The indignity of your fate is the will of one more powerful.