'TIS a tarnished book and old, <br />Edges frayed and covers green! <br />But, between the covers, gold — <br />Gold and jewels in between. <br />And this written (see, O see! <br />How old Time has made it dim) <br />'For one song Keats gave to me <br />I kneel down and worship him.' <br />He who wrote these lines is dust; <br />All of him is passed away; <br />Some hand closed his eyes, I trust, <br />Drew the blind to darken day. <br />Did lips kiss him at the end, <br />Love-lips tremulous yet brave? <br />Had he mistress, child, or friend <br />To sow green grass upon his grave? <br />Nay, we know not — it is long <br />Since he tired of Life's deceits, <br />Closed his ears to sigh and song, <br />Parted with this book, JOHN KEATS. <br />Year by year the Poet thrives; <br />Summer smiles and winter weeps; <br />La Belle Dame Sans Merci lives, <br />But a heart that loved her sleeps. <br />Who would woeful go to miss <br />Roses red in thorns arrayed, <br />When he might with surer bliss <br />Love a milkwhite Devon maid? <br />Beauty kindles man's desire, <br />Beauty dwindles, growing faint; <br />But the girls who never tire <br />Are the girls that poets paint. <br />When the moon has taken wings <br />And the twilight hour is come, <br />Grey the woods, and no bird sings: <br />Grey the world beyond, and dumb: <br />Neither light is there nor breeze, <br />Rose to redden, thorn to pain; <br />Till, look! look! Among the trees <br />A sudden bird! a scarlet stain! <br />So he tired of Fate's defeats, <br />Life's dead trees and woodlands grim, <br />Till sudden-sweet a song of Keats <br />One magic moment gave to him.<br /><br />Roderic Quinn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-of-keats/
