John Keats

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As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
  Upsoars, and darts into the Eastern light,
  On pinions that naught moves but pure delight;
So fled thy soul into the realms above,
Regions of peace and everlasting love;
  Where happy spirits, crowned with circlets bright
  Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight,
Taste the high joy none but the blest can prove.
There thou or joinest the immortal quire
  In melodies that even Heaven fair
Fill with superior bliss, or, at desire
  Of the omnipotent Father, cleavest the air,
On holy message sent - What pleasures higher?
  Wherefore does any grief our joy impair?