Treasure Island

John Keats

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

To one who has been long in city pent



To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Stephen W (1/5/2013 1:15:00 PM)

    I am long in city pent, except for my turn round the arboretum, which was muddy and wet.
    This is the real deal, authentic feeling in this poem. (Report) Reply

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