A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

-- John Keats


jerseytjej said...

I knew it was Keats but had never actually gotten past the first line.

goooooood girl said...

Feel good......

Angel said...

Yes, yes. I love this.

persuede said...

It's actually really long poem, but I think this is probably the most well known section. I was briefly tempted to post the whole thing, but it's literally longer than the front page of the nytimes.

if anyone's interested, here it is in its entirety:


Sheila said...

Hi Persuede and Thanks for the compliment on my wrap vest.

What an awesome poem and you have a beautiful collection of jewelry.

Thanks for the MagHound link.

Tania said...

I love this poem!

persuede said...

Hey Sheila,

Thanks for stopping by! If anyone is into knitting / crocheting, Sheila just finished the cutest wrap sweater and posted pics on her blog...