Logos Virtual Library: Keats: To

John Keats

John Keats (1795-1821)

To —

Time’s sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,

Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty’s web,

And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.
And yet I never look on midnight sky,

But I behold thine eyes’ well memoried light;
I cannot look upon the rose’s dye,

But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.
I cannot look on any budding flower,

But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour

Its sweets in the wrong sense:—Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.