Ode a La Keats
O burgeoning soul of sweet things
mellowed to summer's surge,
with autumn's dim appraisal
loitered to a final song of ditties,
the oozes of eve ferment
my fewest keen-felt purges;
Apollo upon his throne spinning rhyme
wild and weary in his gilded city,
shall he sing thy posy prims
in deep delved halls
with lamenting love on his lips ----
stars his eyes,
moons his garland,
and zephyr, his breath
honeyed in Elven tongues?
How I faint to find my words
whistled in wind,
some blacker beauty in light,
some arrayed longing
begging from dark,
Mountain to moe-hill
in the shades of vales,
the swell of seas
soothed in tinge;
Mother Earth my palette ----
She of rainbow hues
and Bright Stars!
How kingdoms fall harsh,
lidless in forest dim
darkness! darkness!
too barren, too ravished....
naked without even shadow;
shall I clothe thee with wisdom?
Sprinkle thy skin
with the canvas of the heavens?
Steep in the silts of rills
and the leavened soils
of bubbling brooks
drink thy vintage feverish
for the nectar of nightingales
soaked in song
the gods shall push thy pen
prancing, dark winged
as smooth-perched rooks
O wan child fettered and foiled!
thou needed a swifter love all along;
thou canst express with bitter deeds ----
idle words too sober without melody,
a better posy than Shakespeare's?
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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