AmyLowell:ToJohnKeats

Great master! Boyish, sympathetic man!

Whose orbed and ripened genius lightly hung

From lifes slim, twisted tendril and there swung

In crimson-sphered completeness; guardian

Of crystal portals through whose openings fan

The spiced winds which blew when earth was young,

Scattering wreaths of stars, as Jove once flung

A golden shower from heights cerulean.

Crumbled before thy majesty we bow.

Forget thy empurpled state, thy panoply

Of greatness, and be merciful and near;

A youth who trudged the highroad we tread now

Singing the miles behind him; so may we

Faint throbbings of thy music overhear.