What though while the wonders of nature exploring, <br />I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; <br />Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, <br />Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast’s friend: <br /> <br />Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes, <br />With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; <br />Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes, <br />Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews. <br /> <br />Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling? <br />Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? <br />Ah! you list to the nightingale’s tender condoling, <br />Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air. <br /> <br />'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping, <br />I see you are treading the verge of the sea: <br />And now! ah, I see it--you just now are stooping <br />To pick up the keep-sake intended for me. <br /> <br />If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending, <br />Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven; <br />And smiles, with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending, <br />The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given; <br /> <br />It had not created a warmer emotion <br />Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you <br />Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean <br />Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw. <br /> <br />For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure, <br />(And blissful is he who such happiness finds,) <br />To possess but a span of the hour of leisure, <br />In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-some-ladies/
