Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.
And yet I never look on midnight sky,
But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.
I cannot look on any budding flower,
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour Its sweets in the wrong sense: -- Thou dost eclipse Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.'Published in Hood's Magazine for April 1844, headed "Sonnet by the late John Keats," and given by Lord Houghton in 1848 among the Literary Remains, undated, and headed "To ----." with a foot-note to the effect of the heading here adopted.'~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed.
H.
Buxton Forman,
Crowell publ. 1895.
