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Poem by John Keats


How Many Bards Gild the Lapses of Time!


   Sonnet

How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birdsthe whispering of the leaves
The voice of watersthe great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar. 



John Keats


John Keats's other poems:
  1. Specimen of Induction to a Poem
  2. Calidore
  3. To (Hadst Thou Livd in Days of Old)
  4. The Poet
  5. The Castle Builder


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