John Keats

(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821 / London, England)

Lines From Endymion - Poem by John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loviliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondance, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o`er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, inspite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.


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Read poems about / on: beauty, sleep, joy, dark, dream



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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