Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONNET (WRITTEN IN THE COTTAGE WHERE BURNS WAS BORN), by JOHN KEATS



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SONNET (WRITTEN IN THE COTTAGE WHERE BURNS WAS BORN), by             Poet's Biography
First Line: This mortal body of a thousand days
Last Line: O smile among the shades, for this is fame!
Subject(s): Burns, Robert (1759-1796); Poetry & Poets


THIS mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine own Barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find
The meadow thou hast tramped O'er and O'er,--
Yet can I think of thee till thought is blind,--
Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name,--
O smile among the shades, for this is fame!





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