To Keats


Sometimes the moon sails in the frosty sky
Like a white ship, majestic and supreme.
Sometimes it rises early then doth fly,
When very young, before true lovers dream.
Sometimes in summer will the sun beat down
The whole long day with warm and beauty full;
At other times the clouds o’er head do frown
And there is no sun to relieve the dull.
When a brief light is all our privilege
We love it for its shortness more than most!
John Keats, bae long enough thou lived’st to fledge
Thy feathered thoughts, such an unrivalled hast!
O Genius, thou stayed to bloom and hour
And made us love thee, then drooped the red flower!