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Poem by John Keats
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Fill for me a brimming bowl And in it let me drown my soul: But put therein some drug, designed To Banish Women from my mind: For I want not the stream inspiring That fills the mind with--fond desiring, But I want as deep a draught As e'er from Lethe's wave was quaff'd; From my despairing heart to charm The Image of the fairest form That e'er my reveling eyes beheld, That e'er my wandering fancy spell'd. In vain! away I cannot chace The melting softness of that face, The beaminess of those bright eyes, That breast--earth's only Paradise. My sight will never more be blest; For all I see has lost its zest: Nor with delight can I explore, The Classic page, or Muse's lore. Had she but known how beat my heart, And with one smile reliev'd its smart I should have felt a sweet relief, I should have felt ``the joy of grief.'' Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow Of Lapland dreams on sweet Arno, Even so for ever shall she be The Halo of my Memory.
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