Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear <br />From my glad bosom, -- now from gloominess <br />I mount for ever -- not an atom less <br />Than the proud laurel shall content my bier. <br />No! by the eternal stars! or why sit here <br />In the Sun's eye, and 'gainst my temples press <br />Apollo's very leaves, woven to bless <br />By thy white fingers and thy spirit clear. <br />Lo! who dares say, 'Do this'? Who dares call down <br />My will from its high purpose? Who say,'Stand,' <br />Or, 'Go'? This mighty moment I would frown <br />On abject Caesars -- not the stoutest band <br />Of mailed heroes should tear off my crown: <br />Yet would I kneel and kiss thy gentle hand!<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-to-a-young-lady-who-sent-me-a-laurel-crown/
