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The Book of Poems - I

Page I

   From Endymion: A Poetic Romance

   A THING OF BEAUTY is a joy for ever:
   It's 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.
   Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
   A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
   Spite of despodence, of the inhuman dearth
   Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
   Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
   Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all,
   Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
   From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
   Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
   For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
   With the green world they live in; and clear rills
   That for themselves a cooling convert make
   'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
   Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
   And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
   We have imagened for the mighty dead;
   All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
   An endless fountain of immortal drink,
   Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

                           - John Keats (Book I)

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