Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone, The
by: John Keats (1795 - 1821)
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang'rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise -
Vanished unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday -or holinight
Of fragrant-curtained love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;
But, as I've read love's missal through today,
He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.
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Human Seasons, The
Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art
Fancy
When I Have Fears That I May Ceasa To Be
Where Be You Going, you Devon Maid?
When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
To Autumn
Terror of Death, The
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