A poet, a dreamer, of spectral sighs Thy fair form haunts my waking dreams, Yet may my spirit still be light as a breeze And follow thee through the bloom-drenched streams,

Where welling waters hang by the bough, And rippling silver plays on the ground, Where all my yearning finds heart’s release, And longing’s echo is ever found. — A Poet, A Dreamer

• John Keats