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Poem by John Keats


On Visiting the Tomb of Burns


The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,
Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream
I dreamed long ago, now new begun.
The short-liv'd, paly summer is but won
From winter's ague for one hour's gleam;
Through sapphire warm their stars do never beam:
All is cold Beauty; pain is never done.
For who has mind to relish, Minos-wise,
The real of Beauty, free from that dead hue
Sickly imagination and sick pride
Cast wan upon it? Burns! with honour due
I oft have honour'd thee. Great shadow, hide
Thy face; I sin against thy native skies. 



John Keats

Poem Theme: Robert Burns

John Keats's other poems:
  1. Calidore
  2. The Poet
  3. Specimen of Induction to a Poem
  4. To (Hadst Thou Livd in Days of Old)
  5. The Castle Builder


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