EARLY MORNING BLOGS
2206 - For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death
(February 25, 1821)
- At midnight, when the moonlit cypress trees
- Have woven round his grave a magic shade,
- Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made,
- There moves fresh Maia, like a morning breeze
- Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease.
- And stooping where her poet's head is laid,
- Selene weeps, while all the tides are stayed,
- And swaying seas are darkened into peace.
- But they who wake the meadows and the tides
- Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep,
- Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep,
- Startling the Quiet Land where he abides,
- And charming still sad-eyed Persephone
- With visions of the sunny earth and sea.
- (Sara Teasdale)