Verse

John Keats:

O! how I love, on a fair summer’s eve,
   When streams of light pour down the golden west,
   And balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds, far – far away to leave
All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve
   From little cares; to find, with easy quest,
   A fragrant wild, with Nature’s beauty dressed,
And there into delight my soul deceive.
There warm my breast with patriotic lore,
   Musing on Milton’s fate – on Sidney’s bier –
       Till their stern forms before my mind arise:
Perhaps on the wing of Poesy upsoar,
   Full often dropping a delicious tear,
       When some melodious sorrow spells mine eyes.