John Keats

O, sorrow!
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?

O, sorrow!
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?

'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, read more

'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen-
For what listen they?

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
read more

No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; read more

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?