John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:

Upon a time, before the faery broods Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns From rushes green, and brak...

I
There was a naughty boy, A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home, He could not quiet be- He took In his knapsack A book Full of vowels And a shirt With some towels, A slight cap For night cap, A hair brush, Comb ditto, New stoc...

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering
The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone
The squirrel's granary is full, And the harv...

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

BOOK I
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

1
One morn before me were three figures seen, I With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp'd serene, In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn, When s...

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art --Not in lone splendour hung aloft the
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest-like

You say you love ; but with a
Chaster than a nun's, who
The soft Vespers to
While the chime-bell ringeth-O love me truly

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diad...

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless Eremite,