Poem by John Keats

To ******

   Sonnet

Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Would passion arm me for the enterprize:
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell
Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.

Yet must I doat upon thee,--call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses
When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
I'll gather some by spells, and incantation. 

1. Daisy's Song
2. Oh, I Am Frighten'd with Most Hateful Thoughts!
3. Acrostic: Georgiana Augusta Keats
4. O! Were I One of the Olympian Twelve
5. Folly's Song

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