John Keats

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer read more

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

You have ravished me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I
could resist till I saw read more

You have ravished me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I
could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I
endeavored often "to reason against the reasons of my Love."

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.