John Keats
(1795–1821)
Upon the sides of Latmos was outspread
A mighty forest; for the moist earth fed
So plenteously all weed-hidden roots
Into o’er-hanging boughs, and precious fruits.
And it had gloomy shades, sequestered deep,
Where no man went; and if from shepherd’s keep
A lamb strayed far a-down those inmost glens,
Never again saw he the happy pens
Whither his brethren, bleating with content,
Over the hills at every nightfall went.
Among the shepherds, ’twas believed ever,
That not one fleecy lamb which thus did sever
From the white flock, but pass’d unworried
By angry wolf, or pard with prying head,
Until it came to some unfooted plains
Where fed the herds of Pan: ay great his gains
Who thus one lamb did lose. Paths there were many,
Winding through palmy fern, and rushes fenny,
And ivy banks; all leading pleasantly
To a wide lawn, whence one could only see
Stems thronging all around between the swell
Of turf and slanting branches: who could tell
The freshness of the space of heaven above,
Edg’d round with dark tree tops? through which a dove
Would often beat its wings, and often too
A little cloud would move across the blue.
Full in the middle of this pleasantness
There stood a marble altar, with a tress
Of flowers budded newly; and the dew
Had taken fairy phantasies to strew
Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve,
And so the dawned light in pomp receive.
For ’twas the morn: Apollo’s upward fire
Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre
Of brightness so unsullied, that therein
A melancholy spirit well might win
Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine
Into the winds: rain-scented eglantine
Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun;
The lark was lost in him; cold springs had run
To warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass;
Man’s voice was on the mountains; and the mass
Of nature’s lives and wonders puls’d tenfold,
To feel this sun-rise and its glories old.
Now while the silent workings of the dawn
Were busiest, into that self-same lawn
All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped
A troop of little children garlanded;
Who gathering round the altar, seemed to pry
Earnestly round as wishing to espy
Some folk of holiday: nor had they waited
For many moments, ere their ears were sated
With a faint breath of music, which ev’n then
Fill’d out its voice, and died away again.
Within a little space again it gave
Its airy swellings, with a gentle wave,
To light-hung leaves, in smoothest echoes breaking
Through copse-clad vallies,—ere their death, oer-taking
The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea.
And now, as deep into the wood as we
Might mark a lynx’s eye, there glimmered light
Fair faces and a rush of garments white,
Plainer and plainer shewing, till at last
Into the widest alley they all past,
Making directly for the woodland altar.
O kindly muse! let not my weak tongue faulter
In telling of this goodly company,
Of their old piety, and of their glee:
But let a portion of ethereal dew
Fall on my head, and presently unmew
My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,
To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.
Leading the way, young damsels danced along,
Bearing the burden of a shepherd song;
Each having a white wicker over brimm’d
With April’s tender younglings: next, well trimm’d,
A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
As may be read of in Arcadian books;
Such as sat listening round Apollo’s pipe,
When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
Let his divinity o’er-flowing die
In music, through the vales of Thessaly:
Some idly trailed their sheep-hooks on the ground,
And some kept up a shrilly mellow sound
With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these,
Now coming from beneath the forest trees,
A venerable priest full soberly,
Begirt with ministring looks: alway his eye
Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept,
And after him his sacred vestments swept.
From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white,
Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light;
And in his left he held a basket full
Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull:
Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still
Than Leda’s love, and cresses from the rill.
His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath,
Seem’d like a poll of ivy in the teeth
Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd
Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
Their share of the ditty. After them appear’d,
Up-followed by a multitude that rear’d
Their voices to the clouds, a fair wrought car,
Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown:
Who stood therein did seem of great renown
Among the throng. His youth was fully blown,
Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown;
And, for those simple times, his garments were
A chieftain king’s: beneath his breast, half bare,
Was hung a silver bugle, and between
His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen.
A smile was on his countenance; he seem’d,
To common lookers on, like one who dream’d
Of idleness in groves Elysian:
But there were some who feelingly could scan
A lurking trouble in his nether lip,
And see that oftentimes the reins would slip
Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh,
And think of yellow leaves, of owlets cry,
Of logs piled solemnly.—Ah, well-a-day,
Why should our young Endymion pine away!
(1795–1821)
Upon the sides of Latmos was outspread
A mighty forest; for the moist earth fed
So plenteously all weed-hidden roots
Into o’er-hanging boughs, and precious fruits.
And it had gloomy shades, sequestered deep,
Where no man went; and if from shepherd’s keep
A lamb strayed far a-down those inmost glens,
Never again saw he the happy pens
Whither his brethren, bleating with content,
Over the hills at every nightfall went.
Among the shepherds, ’twas believed ever,
That not one fleecy lamb which thus did sever
From the white flock, but pass’d unworried
By angry wolf, or pard with prying head,
Until it came to some unfooted plains
Where fed the herds of Pan: ay great his gains
Who thus one lamb did lose. Paths there were many,
Winding through palmy fern, and rushes fenny,
And ivy banks; all leading pleasantly
To a wide lawn, whence one could only see
Stems thronging all around between the swell
Of turf and slanting branches: who could tell
The freshness of the space of heaven above,
Edg’d round with dark tree tops? through which a dove
Would often beat its wings, and often too
A little cloud would move across the blue.
Full in the middle of this pleasantness
There stood a marble altar, with a tress
Of flowers budded newly; and the dew
Had taken fairy phantasies to strew
Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve,
And so the dawned light in pomp receive.
For ’twas the morn: Apollo’s upward fire
Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre
Of brightness so unsullied, that therein
A melancholy spirit well might win
Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine
Into the winds: rain-scented eglantine
Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun;
The lark was lost in him; cold springs had run
To warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass;
Man’s voice was on the mountains; and the mass
Of nature’s lives and wonders puls’d tenfold,
To feel this sun-rise and its glories old.
Now while the silent workings of the dawn
Were busiest, into that self-same lawn
All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped
A troop of little children garlanded;
Who gathering round the altar, seemed to pry
Earnestly round as wishing to espy
Some folk of holiday: nor had they waited
For many moments, ere their ears were sated
With a faint breath of music, which ev’n then
Fill’d out its voice, and died away again.
Within a little space again it gave
Its airy swellings, with a gentle wave,
To light-hung leaves, in smoothest echoes breaking
Through copse-clad vallies,—ere their death, oer-taking
The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea.
And now, as deep into the wood as we
Might mark a lynx’s eye, there glimmered light
Fair faces and a rush of garments white,
Plainer and plainer shewing, till at last
Into the widest alley they all past,
Making directly for the woodland altar.
O kindly muse! let not my weak tongue faulter
In telling of this goodly company,
Of their old piety, and of their glee:
But let a portion of ethereal dew
Fall on my head, and presently unmew
My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,
To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.
Leading the way, young damsels danced along,
Bearing the burden of a shepherd song;
Each having a white wicker over brimm’d
With April’s tender younglings: next, well trimm’d,
A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
As may be read of in Arcadian books;
Such as sat listening round Apollo’s pipe,
When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
Let his divinity o’er-flowing die
In music, through the vales of Thessaly:
Some idly trailed their sheep-hooks on the ground,
And some kept up a shrilly mellow sound
With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these,
Now coming from beneath the forest trees,
A venerable priest full soberly,
Begirt with ministring looks: alway his eye
Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept,
And after him his sacred vestments swept.
From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white,
Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light;
And in his left he held a basket full
Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull:
Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still
Than Leda’s love, and cresses from the rill.
His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath,
Seem’d like a poll of ivy in the teeth
Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd
Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
Their share of the ditty. After them appear’d,
Up-followed by a multitude that rear’d
Their voices to the clouds, a fair wrought car,
Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown:
Who stood therein did seem of great renown
Among the throng. His youth was fully blown,
Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown;
And, for those simple times, his garments were
A chieftain king’s: beneath his breast, half bare,
Was hung a silver bugle, and between
His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen.
A smile was on his countenance; he seem’d,
To common lookers on, like one who dream’d
Of idleness in groves Elysian:
But there were some who feelingly could scan
A lurking trouble in his nether lip,
And see that oftentimes the reins would slip
Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh,
And think of yellow leaves, of owlets cry,
Of logs piled solemnly.—Ah, well-a-day,
Why should our young Endymion pine away!
They say I need to forget him
Forget his face
Forget his kiss
Forger his name
Forget the love that I once knew
Forget how close we once were
Forget how I memorized his walk
Forget how he used to talk
But how can I??
How can I forget him
I loved him....
I still do
But I remember he's with someone knew
I remember he had chosen her
I remember when I cried all night
I remember he's gone
I remember that he's probably
with her tonight in her arms
I remember he's gone......
Forever
Forever.......
Forget his face
Forget his kiss
Forger his name
Forget the love that I once knew
Forget how close we once were
Forget how I memorized his walk
Forget how he used to talk
But how can I??
How can I forget him
I loved him....
I still do
But I remember he's with someone knew
I remember he had chosen her
I remember when I cried all night
I remember he's gone
I remember that he's probably
with her tonight in her arms
I remember he's gone......
Forever
Forever.......
My brother's not a werewolf
though it often looks that way.
He has to shave his whiskers
almost every single day.
His feet are getting furry
and his hands are sprouting hair.
His voice is deep and growling
like a grumpy grizzly bear.
He often sleeps throughout the day
and stays up half the night.
And if you saw the way he eats
you'd surely scream in fright.
His clothes are ripped and dirty
like the stuff a werewolf wears.
His socks and shirts are shredded
and his pants have countless tears.
If you should ever meet him
you'll discover what I mean.
My brother's not a werewolf;
he's just turning seventeen.
though it often looks that way.
He has to shave his whiskers
almost every single day.
His feet are getting furry
and his hands are sprouting hair.
His voice is deep and growling
like a grumpy grizzly bear.
He often sleeps throughout the day
and stays up half the night.
And if you saw the way he eats
you'd surely scream in fright.
His clothes are ripped and dirty
like the stuff a werewolf wears.
His socks and shirts are shredded
and his pants have countless tears.
If you should ever meet him
you'll discover what I mean.
My brother's not a werewolf;
he's just turning seventeen.
I'm sorry for all of the fights,
and for all of the lonely nights,
I'm sorry for the thoughts that made you crash,
and I'm sorry for all of the times that I stopped your laugh,
Now we can't talk
There's no way we can be,
I'm sorry for making you fall in love with me.
Now I live through dark days,
And I sleep through cold nights,
wishing one treated the other right.
It should have been me,
but it could have been you,
The first one to take back words of ice.
But now as i think,
Back to endless days of our youth,
Me and you,
Well the thought is so nice.
and for all of the lonely nights,
I'm sorry for the thoughts that made you crash,
and I'm sorry for all of the times that I stopped your laugh,
Now we can't talk
There's no way we can be,
I'm sorry for making you fall in love with me.
Now I live through dark days,
And I sleep through cold nights,
wishing one treated the other right.
It should have been me,
but it could have been you,
The first one to take back words of ice.
But now as i think,
Back to endless days of our youth,
Me and you,
Well the thought is so nice.
Sky so black
You want me,
I’m never coming back,
You hit,
You cut,
I scream,
I cry,
No matter how bad,
You always lie.
I die,
You don’t cry,
You never did,
You never will.
Don’t cry,
When I die,
‘Cause every time it was a lie.
All I have to say is,
goodbye
its my turn to die,
i may hate you,
but i love you,
i'm a descrase,
i've had enough,
youre on your own,
forget about the one you left alone,
you lie to much,
forget about the one you loved.
the world once used to be calm
the world now is loud
the world is mad
once i loved
now i hate
dont know why
lions once slept with lambs
now they eat them all the time
this is not a lie
kids once were loved
now there hated
parents abusing
love once went on
then it stopped
people stopped loveing people
people once wanted to live
now they want to die
with a knife
actors once were kind
now most are mean
we all changed suddently
once people hugged with smiles
now they hurt with smiles on there ugly face
what has happend to all of us in this world
we all once lived happily till the world went loud
the world now is loud
the world is mad
once i loved
now i hate
dont know why
lions once slept with lambs
now they eat them all the time
this is not a lie
kids once were loved
now there hated
parents abusing
love once went on
then it stopped
people stopped loveing people
people once wanted to live
now they want to die
with a knife
actors once were kind
now most are mean
we all changed suddently
once people hugged with smiles
now they hurt with smiles on there ugly face
what has happend to all of us in this world
we all once lived happily till the world went loud
Ye, Lord let the fragrance of flowers
Mix in blowing breeze
Make the shade of trees even cooler
To give traveler much more peace
Let the trees go even wider and taller
To save the earth from burning heat
Make the smell of soil so sweet
That the countrymen live to die for their country
Let the sun shine even brightly
To make corn fields look like gold
Lord make the sky even wider
To save us from every harm
Let the moonlight spread around
Let the beauty make us a bit warm
Oh Lord above all, Give us a willing heart
Lord, let us be your part….. your part
Mix in blowing breeze
Make the shade of trees even cooler
To give traveler much more peace
Let the trees go even wider and taller
To save the earth from burning heat
Make the smell of soil so sweet
That the countrymen live to die for their country
Let the sun shine even brightly
To make corn fields look like gold
Lord make the sky even wider
To save us from every harm
Let the moonlight spread around
Let the beauty make us a bit warm
Oh Lord above all, Give us a willing heart
Lord, let us be your part….. your part