I've been reading come of Keats' poetry, and I thought I'd drop some lines to all of you:
KEEN, fitful gusts are whisp’ring here and there | |
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; |
A THING of beauty is a joy for ever: | |
Its loveliness increases; it will never | |
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep | |
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep | |
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing |
WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain, | |
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; | |
Without that modest softening that enhances | |
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain | |
That its mild light creates to heal again: | |
E’en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances, | |
E’en then my soul with exultation dances | |
For that to love, so long, I’ve dormant lain: | |
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender, | |
Heavens! how desperately do I adore | |
Thy winning graces;—to be thy defender | |
I hotly burn—to be a Calidore— | |
A very Red Cross Knight—a stout Leander— | |
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, | | And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head. |
TO one who has been long in city pent, | | ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair | | And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer | | Full in the smile of the blue firmament. | | Who is more happy, when, with hearts content, | | Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair | | Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair | | And gentle tale of love and languishment?
| 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: | | And let there glide by many a pearly car, | | Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, | | And half discovered wings, and glances keen. | | The while let music wander round my ears, | | And as it reaches each delicious ending, | | Let me write down a line of glorious tone, | | And full of many wonders of the spheres: | | For what a height my spirit is contending! | | ’Tis not content so soon to be alone.
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Sorry this post is so long, and each of these have been taken from different poems, so if you're looking for the whole thing, it might be a bit of searching! I just thought some of them were worth throwing out there. |
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2 comments:
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever" is one of my favorite lines in all of poetry. And Mary Poppins too. ;)
Mary Poppins, too???
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