John Keats

A. P., "Sonnet to Keats" The Euterpeiad [New York] 1 (1 April 1831) 240.

Oh thou most patient-ey'd and meek and mild!
Thou that do'st live in every wave that smiled;
In every leaf that rustled with a hymn—
In every stream, and dell, and forest wild—
In every thing abounding with a dim
And secret beauty; — thou who didst enthrone,
Amid the fire of thy rich heart, each god
Of old Mythology; and, all alone,
Didst offer them thy deep and springing flood
And incense of pure song: Oh thou sick heart!
Weeping thyself away like evening dew,
For scorn, and curled lip, and sneering tone;
Still, like the woods and fields, and mountains blue,
Shall human souls ring henceforth to thy heart.

Say — whither went thy soul at feel of death?
Out to the west where patient sunset rode
Amid thick bars of gold, upon a breath
Of brilliant vapor? else where sunrise strode
With flame upon his brow? or where the fire
From moon and star, had built upon white cloud
Streaming pavilions? — where the great lyre
Of the blue sea was sounding, with a might
Of deep, sweet harmony — where the mist invests
Some fountain, drifted through the dun twilight
Of mountain shades — or where the constant song
Of fiery drifts was in the northern sky?
In some great beauty thou art even at rest,
Dreaming, awake — with ever patient eye.