JOHN KEATS

Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame ; What doth strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away.

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth ! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new !

��6$i. Fancy

PVER let the Fancy roam,

• -' Pleasure never is at home:

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming : Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting : What do then ? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright,

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