TO JOHN KEATS

                       


    Dear priest and prophet, cantor of sweet time,
   
        Grand dreamer of delicious lore and fame,

            What e'er you viewed that spirit you became

                To sing its joy and sorrow in rich rhyme.

    And when the frenzy wrought a poem sublime

        Each line reveals the soul you sought to claim.

            But now unto Apollo songs you frame.

                For us your hymn fell silent ere its prime.

        But in the sacred bower of your mind,

            Before the timeless font of pleasure-pain

                Will you not say a prayer of soft design

        To make his Muses mold me in your kind

            And by your saintly chants have me ordained,

                If unsung rhymes in Faerielande remain?

 

 

Reviews

[Genie]

Oh this is very, very well done! A tribute to the master yet remaining fresh for today, classic style with modern needs. I love the lines "Will you not say a prayer of soft design/to make his Muses mold me in your kind ..." You've written my own oft-uttered prayer! Thank you.

You've crafted a wonderful poem here.