John Keats

To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And though to leave her far away behind;
But read more

To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And though to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly:
She is so constant to me, and so kind.

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."

A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it.

A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer read more

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more

Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?