Search Results for: poetry at work

< Return to All John Keats To Ailsa Rock Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid! Give answer from thy voice, the sea-fowl’s screams! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams! When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hid? How long is ‘t since the mighty power bid Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom […]

< Return to All John Keats To a Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;—when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose; ’twas […]

< Return to All John Keats ‘Tis the Witching Time of Night ‘Tis ” the witching time of night”, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen — For what listen they? For a song and for a charm, See they glisten in alarm, And […]

< Return to All John Keats Think of it not Sweet One Think not of it, sweet one, so; Give it not a tear; Sigh thou mayest, but bid it go Any, any where. Do not look so sad, sweet one, Sad and fadingly; Shed one drop then–It is gone– Oh! ’twas born to die. […]

< Return to All John Keats The Human Seasons Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring’s honied cud of youthful thought he […]

< 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 […]

< 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, […]

< Return to All John Keats On the Grasshopper and Cricket The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead In summer luxury,—he […]

< 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: […]