 | Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell |  |
SONNET—TO KEATS
Thine eyes, I know, with earnestness were fraught,Thy brow a pale and musing hue had ta'en,
And a mild frown, from watching not in vain
The patient dawn and sunrise of great thought;
Thy soul seemed listening still as if it caught,
Through castle hall, or arches dim and long,
The mail-clad tramp of old heroic song,
Or heard, through groves of moss-grown oak trees brought,
Mysterious tones from the lone pipe of Pan;
While thy dark eyes glowed mellowly to see
Coy nymphs, as down thick-leavèd dells they ran,
And backward glanced with longing eyes at thee,
Whose gracious heart, in its most Grecian mood,
Ran red and warm with right good English blood.
| Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell | |