My spirit is too weak—mortality
  Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
  And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.
  Yet ’tis a gentle luxury to weep
  That I have not the cloudy winds to keep
Fresh for the opening of the morning’s eye.
Such dim—conceived glories of the brain
  Bring round the heart an undescribable feud;
So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
  That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old time—with a billowy main—
  A sun—a shadow of a magnitude.

  • 0
  • 1
Login to comment...

Liked or faved by...

Amadeus Annais

Other works by John Keats...

Some poets who follow John Keats...

Andysombra saba saba SHEENY Robert Thomas Halliwell kamila more cabisada thabo alton