John Keats Love Poems

HITHER hither, love---
'Tis a shady mead---
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed!
...

I
You say you love ; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
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And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
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Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,
When streams of light pour down the golden west,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds, far -- far away to leave
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