A Keats Sonnet

This is my first attempt at a Keats Sonnet.

The pretty petals of a rose abloom,

Is a delight to e'en the saddened soul,

Upon whom tragedy has befallen.

Indeed, the heady scent of its perfume,

Will doubtless from that saddened soul cajole,

E'en against the will, a weakly smile.

For those on whom an ill shade has fallen,

Or who sing the dire dirges of the tomb,

Let the beauty of the rose make thee whole.

Permit thy senses to take it all in,

Sit with me and stay with the rose awhile,

Let it heal thy spirit and make thee glad.

And let the rose from thy count'nance beguile,

A little hope, and forget that thou was sad.