Poem by John Keats

To John Hamilton Reynolds (O that a week could be an age, and we)

    Sonnet 

O that a week could be an age, and we
Felt parting and warm meeting every week,
Then one poor year a thousand years would be,
The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
So could we live long life in little space,
So time itself would be annihilate,
So a day's journey in oblivious haze
To serve ourjoys would lengthen and dilate.
O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind!
To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant!
In little time a host of joys to bind,
And keep our souls in one eternal pant!
This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught
Me how to harbour such a happy thought. 

1. What the Thrush Said
2. Written in Answer to a Sonnet by J.H. Reynolds
3. To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall
4. Song (“The stranger lighted from his steed”)
5. Song of Four Faries

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