John Keats

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,--
Nature's observatory--whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

There is a budding morrow in midnight.

There is a budding morrow in midnight.

He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.

He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.