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John Keats: To -
Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine,To Ailsa RockTo - Time’s sea hath been five years at its slow ebb, Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand, Since I was tangled in thy beauty’s…John Keats: To Ailsa Rock
To -To HomerTo Ailsa Rock Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid, Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls’ screams! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams? When from the sun was thy…John Keats: Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art-
After dark vapours have oppres...The day is gone, and all its s...Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art- Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung…John Keats: To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent
To Mrs. Reynolds's CatTo SleepTo One Who Has Been Long in City Pent 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…John Keats: To Sleep
To One Who Has Been Long in City PentWhen I have fears that I may cease to beTo Sleep O soft embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom-pleased eyes…John Keats: When I have fears that I may cease to be
To SleepWhy did I laugh to-night? No v...When I have fears that I may cease to be When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, Before high-piled…John Keats: Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell.
When I have fears that I may cease to beWritten in the Cottage Where B...Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell. Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell. No God, no Demon of…John Keats: Written in the Cottage Where Burns was Born
Why did I laugh to-night? No v...Written in the Cottage Where Burns was Born This mortal body of a thousand days Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room, Where thou didst dream alone…John Keats: The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Bright star! would I were sted...Four Seasons fill the measure ...The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft…John Keats: Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
The day is gone, and all its s...I cry your mercy-pity-love!-aye, love!Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the…Trending
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