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?