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John Keats (Джон Китс)


To ******


   Sonnet

Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Would passion arm me for the enterprize:
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell
Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
Yet must I doat upon thee,--call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses
When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
I'll gather some by spells, and incantation. 



John Keats's other poems:
  1. The Gothic Looks Solemn
  2. To John Hamilton Reynolds
  3. Gif Ye Wol Stonden Hardie Wight
  4. Teignmouth
  5. Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp'Ring Here And There


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