John Keats

There is a budding morrow in midnight.

There is a budding morrow in midnight.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I read more

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; read more

A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more

Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?