My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: We studied this poem in the literature class. wonderful poem of Keats. tony
This mireda is pure bro this poem is so bad it makes me want to throw up.
If you need to vomit, just read the megalomaniacal versifier, Robert Frost, who turns small events in his mundane life into pseudo epics, or if you're constipated, just read Leonard Cohen whose ego and lack of talent guarantees a sudden evacuation.
Keats, the immortal nightingale is still singing for us
KEATS The KING, giving hope to the world, and beauty, uninhibited tenderness
Lovely and beautiful line by line I drank words born of melody filled syllables sung into sense
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. ........ Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain- - To thy high requiem become a sod .......... Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
such a rich life in posy, the real stuff could only disappoint. More disease and sorrow here than the elfy groves where one can hide. But for a while one can, and he did. for a short while...short, like all whiles, but better than absinthe, when poesy flows.
I think of this poem often in the spring, when mockingbirds sing all night