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...
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