On John Keats Poem by Scott Kass

O, Keats! That fortune reigns by strange decree
Thou knew; subdued and pale in restless throes,
No labor but in anguish, by the tree
That sang thine heart in bloom, thy spirit rose;
Lament no purpose might thee hath attained
By hearty work, nor station 'mongst thy peers --
Thy rivals -- in some office long-contained,
Where groomèd serfs compete contrived careers;
I vie among them! Would that my one task
Resided in the notes of nightingales,
Unhearing of the duties Man would ask,
In tune with breath, until my last one fails;
Rejoice -- that illness, from thy bed, had shown
The music of the world thy charge alone.