Sleep and Poetry First, let me tell what gold and pearls Are sweetness’ rich delights for this;
What distant wants for fleeting words, Of Nature’s bidding aureate seals;
And how that the sad populace grows Hostile at feasts of autumn, And how, when winter prevails, Each trophy utterly wins the fairest down.
Yet, when fresh gardens start in bloom, Then nowhere fades away their heat, And yet, if tender tears will sleep, The dew shall bring it all to mind:
O Summer, fair beaming year that glows So strongly; now this calm that meets,
Now winds and winds as stretch through gardens clear! O would I too with all that wait, For what is sweet will ne’er resign!
- The dreams—I see
- The colors brighten For memory that ye pledge!
- John Keats