 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
KEATS.
At thy dear birth the Muses, present all,Assistance gave and happy augury;
And, tho' celestials, did loving vie
In mortal offices, and deigned to call
After themselves, and of their great and small
Large-handed gave thee. Poet's tongue and eye,
Imagination's wings; humanity
Open and warm as day in Spring, as Fall
Rich, mellow-fruited. But, alas! there stood
Another Presence near the Muses, one
Stronger than they, and of far other mood,
And gave his fatal gifts, beheld of none!
Is there, O Death, so much of rarest good,
That all they do by thee must be undone?
| Stones from The Quarry | |