First Lines of John Keats

After dark vapors have oppress'd our plainsAs Hermes once took to his feathers light,As late I rambled in the happy fields,Bards of Passion and of Mirth,Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven, -- the domainBright star, would I were steadfast as thou art!Come hither, all sweet maidens soberly,Ever let the Fancy roam,Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coyFour seasons fill the measure of the year;Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fearGive me a golden pen, and let me leanGod of the golden bow,Good Kosciusko! thy great name aloneGreat spirits now on earth are sojourning:Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighsHappy is England! I could be contentHaydon! forgive me that I cannot speakHearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid!High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,How fever'd is the man, who cannot lookHow many bards gild the lapses of time!Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear!I cry your mercy -- pity -- love -- ay, love!If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,It keeps eternal whisperings aroundKeen fitful gusts are whispering here and thereMany the wonders I this day have seen:Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,My spirit is too weak; mortalityNo! those days are gone away,No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twistNymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!O golden-tongued romance with serene lute!O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,O that a week could be an age, and weO what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,Physician Nature! let my spirit blood!Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loudSeason of mists and mellow fruitfulness!Shed no tear! O shed no tear!Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,Soft embalmer of the still midnight!Son of the old moon-mountains African!Souls of poets dead and gone,Standing aloof in giant ignorance,The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!The poetry of earth is never dead:This mortal body of a thousand daysThis pleasant tale is like a little copse:Time's sea hath been five years at its low ebb,To one who has been long in city pent,Unfelt, unheard, unseen,What can I do to drive awayWhat is more gentle than a wind in summer?What though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,When I have fears that I may cease to beWho loves to peer up at the morning sun,Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell;
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