John Keats

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

To John Hamilton Reynolds - Poem by John Keats

O that a week could be an age, and we
Felt parting and warm meeting every week,
Then one poor year a thousand years would be,
The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
So could we live long life in little space,
So time itself would be annihilate,
So a day's journey in oblivious haze
To serve ourjoys would lengthen and dilate.
O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind!
To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant!
In little time a host of joys to bind,
And keep our souls in one eternal pant!
This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught
Me how to harbour such a happy thought.

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Read poems about / on: journey, happy, friend, time, life, joy

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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