Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/265

 KEATS'S LAST SONNET.

 TO SPENSER.

! a jealous honorer of thine, A forester deep in thy midmost trees, Did, last eve, ask my promise to refine Some English, that might strive thine ear to please. But, Elfin-poet! 'tis impossible For an inhabitant of wintry earth To rise, like Phœbus, with a golden quill, Fire-winged, and make a morning in his mirth. 