Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/62

26 When some bright thought has darted through my brain:

Through all that day I 've felt a greater pleasure

Than if I 'd brought to light a hidden treasure.

As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,

I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.

Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,

Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment

Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought

While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.

E'en now I 'm pillow'd on a bed of flowers

That crowns a lofty cliff, which proudly towers

Above the ocean waves. The stalks and blades

Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades.

On one side is a field of drooping oats,

Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats;

So pert and useless, that they bring to mind

The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.

And on the other side, outspread, is seen

Ocean's blue mantle, streak'd with purple, and green;

Now 't is I see a canvass'd ship, and now

Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.

I see the lark down-dropping to his nest,

And the broad-winged sea-gull never at rest;

For when no more he spreads his feathers free,

His breast is dancing on the restless sea.

Now I direct my eyes into the west,

Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:

Why westward turn? 'T was but to say adieu!

'T was but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!

the wonders I this day have seen:

The sun, when first he kist away the tears

That fill'd the eyes of morn;—the laurell'd peers

Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—

The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,

Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,—

Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears

Must think on what will be, and what has been.

E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,

Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping

So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,

And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.

But what, without the social thought of thee,

Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

I a man's fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:

But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;

No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;

I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.