John Keats

Dry your eyes--O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of read more

Dry your eyes--O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies.

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.

He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.

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