Ode To Keats

Oh, standing by thy greenish grave ! I ponder for thousands of times I write and write and then tear out Hundreds of notes hundreds of rhymes Thousands of nightingales I heard But for thy nightingale I pine No Ruth haunted my cotton fields No casement in castles forlorn My wistful eyes gazed thy love They found thy Fanny insincere Oh !why thou pine for such a maid? Is love to such a maiden fair? In country's desolate streets No angel no person will come Thy Beauty, Truth and Autumn all To my hamlet I welcome Why does thou ask to write thy name? On watery flowing waves of lake? I'll write down thy name with stars On lofty sky for thine own sake More beauteous than the evening hues More beauteous than the stars that shine More beauteous than the Beauty' s soul For which Herself the Beauty pines Who is that lady by thy side? The goddess Moon or Fanny Brawn? Oh come with me in vale of glee Thy country's lanes are desolate No one will come to talk to thee Thou liveth in chamber isolate Oh come and write an Ode for me In my veins thy love circulate Continued...