Poems 1817-John Keats

What more felicity can fall to creature than to enjoy delight with liberty? Fate of the Butterfly Spencer Dedication to Lee Hunt Esquire Glory and loveliness have passed away, for if we wander out in early morn, no wreathed incense do we see upborne into the east to meet the smiling day, no crowd of nymphs, soft-voiced and young and gay, in woven baskets bringing ears of corn, roses and pinks and violets, to adorn the shrine of Flora in her early May.

but there are left delights as high as these, and I shall ever bless my destiny, that in a time when under pleasant trees pan is no longer sought, I feel a free, a leafy luxury, seeing I could please with these poor offerings a man like thee.

The short pieces in the middle of the book, as well as some of the sonnets, were written at an earlier period than the rest of the poems.

section two of poems eighteen seventeen by john keats this librivox recording is in the public domain poems places of nestling green for poets made story of rimini i stood tip-toe upon a little hill the air was cooling and so very still that the sweet buds which with a modest pride pull droopingly in slanting curve aside their scantily leaved and finely tapering stems had not yet lost those starry diadems caught from the early sobbing of the morn The clouds were pure and white as flocks, new shorn and fresh from the clear brook.

Sweetly they slept on the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept a little noiseless noise among the leaves, born of the very sigh that silence heaves.

For not the faintest motion could be seen of all the shades that slanted o'er the greens.

there was wide wandering for the greediest eye to peer about upon variety far round the horizon's crystal air to skim and trace the dwindled edgings of its brim to picture out the quaint and curious bending of a fresh woodland alley never-ending or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves i gazed awhile and felt as light and free as though the fanning wings of mercury had played upon my heels i was light-hearted and many pleasures to my vision started so i straightway began to pluck a posy of luxuries bright milky soft and rosy a bush of may-flowers with the bees about them ah sure no tasteful nook would be without them and let a lush laburnum oversweep them and let long grass grow round the roots to keep them moist cool and green and shade the violets that they may bind the moss in leafy nets a filbert hedge with wild briar over-twined and clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind upon their summer thrones there too should be the frequent chequer of a youngling tree that with a score of light-green brethren shoots from the quaint mossiness of aged roots round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters the spreading bluebell it may haply mourn that such fair clusters should be rudely torn from their fresh beds and scattered thoughtlessly by infant hands left on the path to die open afresh your round of starry folds ye ardent marigolds dry up the moisture from your golden lids for great apollo bids that in these days your praises should be sung on many harps which he has lately strung and when again your dewiness he kisses tell him i have you in my world of blisses so haply when i rove in some far vale his mighty voice may come upon the gale here are sweet peas on tiptoe for a flight with wings of gentle flush or delicate white and taper fulgent catching at all things to bind them all about with tiny rings linger awhile upon some bending planks that lean against the streamlet's rushy banks and watch intently nature's gentle doings they will be found softer than ring-doves cooings how silent comes the water round that bend not the minutest whisper does it send to the o'erhanging sallows blades of grass slowly across the chequered shadows pass why you might read two sonnets ere they reach to where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach a natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds where swarms of minnows show their little heads staying their wavy bodies gainst the streams to taste the luxury of sunny beams temper'd with coolness how they ever wrestle with their own sweet delight and ever nestle their silver bellies on the pebbly sand if you but scantily hold out the hand that very instant not one will remain but turn your eye and they are there again the ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses and cool themselves among the emerald tresses the while they cool themselves they freshness give and moisture that the bowery green may live so keeping up an interchange of favours like good men in the truth of their behaviours sometimes gold finches one by one will drop from low hung branches little space they stop but sip and twitter and their feathers sleek then off at once as in a wanton freak or perhaps to show their black and golden wings pausing upon their yellow flutterings were i in such a place i sure would pray that nought less sweet might call my thoughts away than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown fanning away the dandelion's down than the light music of her nimble toes patting against the sorrel as she goes how she would start and blush thus to be caught playing in all her innocence of thought oh let me lead her gently o'er the brook watch her half-smiling lips and downward look oh let me for one moment touch her wrist let me one moment to her breathing list and as she leaves me may she often turn her fair eyes looking through her locks or burn what next a tuft of evening primroses o'er which the mind may hover till it dozes o'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep but that tis ever startled by the leap of buds into ripe flowers or by the flitting of divers moths that aye their rest are quitting or by the moon lifting her silver rim above a cloud and with a gradual swim coming into the blue with all her light o maker of sweet poets dear delight of this fair world and all its gentle livers spangler of clouds halo of crystal rivers mingler with leaves and dew and tumbling streams closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams lover of loneliness and wandering of upcast eye and tender pondering thee must i praise above all other glories that smile us on to tell delightful stories for what has made the sage or poet right but the fair paradise of nature's light in the calm grandeur of a sober line we see the waving of the mountain pine and when a tale is beautifully stayed we feel the safety of a hawthorn glade when it is moving on luxurious wings the soul is lost in pleasant smotherings fair dewy roses brush against our faces and flowering laurels spring from diamond vases or ahead we see the jasmine and sweet briar and bloomy grapes laughing from green attire while at our feet the voice of crystal bubbles charms us at once away from all our troubles so that we feel uplifted from the world walking upon the white clouds wreathed and curled so felt he who first told how psyche went on the smooth wind to realms of wonderment what psyche felt and love when their full lips first touched what amorous and fondling nips they gave each other's cheeks with all their sighs and how they kissed each other's tremulous eyes the silver lamp the ravishment the wonder the darkness loneliness the fearful thunder their woes gone by and both to heaven upflown to bow for gratitude before jove's throne so did he feel who pulled the bowers aside that we might look into a forest wide to catch a glimpse of fauns and dryades coming with softest rustle through the trees and garlands woven of flowers wild and sweet upheld on ivory wrists or sporting feet telling us how fair trembling syrinx fled arcadian pan with such a fearful dread