FROM birds that pour their liquid notes of song, At early morn, and late at eventide; From curious shells, that in the great deep hide, And flowers that maidens cull in happy throng; From deepest solitude of whole days long, And sculptured stone, of olive Greece the pride; From stars, the glistening tears of evening's bride, And waves, that whisper in a mystic tongue; Keats wooed his strains and with them passion blent. And as the chalice of a flower is bent With the sweet burthen of the morning dew, Yet in its drooping casts to earth anew A richer fragrance than it e'er hath lent Before, so seemed the life of Keats when spent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE NOTHING II by HAYDEN CARRUTH DAWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CITIES OF THE PLAIN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HORACE TO LEUCONOE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |