From ODE TO PSYCHE John Keats (1795-1821) Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branchèd thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: Far, far around shall those dark- clusterd trees Fledge the wild-ridgèd mountains steep by steep; And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, The moss-lain Dryads shall be lulld to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreathd trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy eer could feign, Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same; And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
Posted on: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 22:59:05 +0000
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