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Poem by John Keats


Written in the Cottage where Burns Was Born


This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine old barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find
The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er,--
Yet can I think of thee till thought is blind,--
Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name,--
O smile among the shades, for this is fame! 



John Keats

Poem Theme: Robert Burns

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


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