Tweetspeak Poetry

Search Results for: by hand

“The Day is Gone (and All Its Sweets)” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats The Day is Gone (and All Its Sweets) The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone, Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang’rous waist! Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded […]

“Sweet Is the Greeting of Eyes” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats Sweet Is the Greeting of Eyes Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes, And sweet is the voice in its greeting, When adieus have grown old and goodbyes Fade away where old Time is retreating. Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand, And earnest a kiss on the brow, […]

“On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour Give me a golden pen, and let me lean On heap’d up flowers, in regions clear, and far; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when ’tis seen The silver strings of heavenly harp atween: […]

“Ode to Psyche” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats Ode to Psyche O Gooddess! hear these tunealess numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conchèd ear: Surely I dream’d to-day, or did I see The wingèd Psyche with awaken’d eyes? I wander’d in a forest […]

“Ode on Melancholy” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats Ode on Melancholy No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor […]

“I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill 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 […]

“I Had a Dove” by John Keats

< Return to All John Keats I Had a Dove I had a dove, and the sweet dove died And I have thought it died of grieving; O what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied With a silken thread of my own hand’s weaving: Sweet little red feet! why would you die? Why […]