THE weltering London ways where children weep <br />And girls whom none call maidens laugh,—strange road <br />Miring his outward steps, who inly trode <br />The bright Castalian brink and Latmos' steep:— <br />Even such his life's cross-paths; till deathly deep <br />He toiled through sands of Lethe; and long pain, <br />Weary with labour spurned and love found vain, <br />In dead Rome's sheltering shadow wrapped his sleep. <br />O pang-dowered Poet, whose reverberant lips <br />And heart-strung lyre awoke the Moon's eclipse,— <br />Thou whom the daisies glory in growing o'er,— <br />Their fragrance clings around thy name, not writ <br />But rumour'd in water, while the fame of it <br />Along Time's flood goes echoing evermore.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-keats-7/
