After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains ...

By John Keats

After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle south, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious mouth, relieved from its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May,
The eyelids with the passing coolness play,
Like rose-leaves with the drip of summer rains.
And calmest thoughts come round us -- as, of leaves
Budding, -- fruit ripening in stillness,-- autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves, --
Sweet Sappho's cheek, -- a sleeping infant's breath, --
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs,
A woodland rivulet, -- a Poet's death.

Jan 1817.