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Poem by John Keats


* * *


Think not of it, sweet one, so; 
         Give it not a tear;
Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
         Any, any where.

Do not lool so sad, sweet one, 
         Sad and fadingly;
Shed one drop then,  it is gone 
         O twas born to die!

Still so pale? then, dearest, weep;
         Weep, Ill count the tears,
And each one shall be a bliss
         For thee in after years.

Brighter has it left thine eyes
         Than a sunny rill;
And thy whispering melodies
         Are tenderer still.

Yet  as all things mourn awhile
         At fleeting blisses,
Een let us too! but be our dirge
         A dirge of kisses.



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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