30.07.2007, 10:17
John Keats
His youth was like the bloom of early May,
With all its freshness and its sweetness, too,
Yet with a promise richer as it grew,
Like roses budding for a summer day!
But Autumn came too soon, in garments gay,
With russet, red and gold and skies of blue,
Yet over all a melancholy hue--
A hectic beauty soon to fade away!
And now how strange it seems to you and me,
That even those who loved him passed the light;
That years rolled by in scorn and mockery
Before his star rose clear above the Night;
As if those ultra rays men could not see
Were rays divine, too fine for human sight.
His youth was like the bloom of early May,
With all its freshness and its sweetness, too,
Yet with a promise richer as it grew,
Like roses budding for a summer day!
But Autumn came too soon, in garments gay,
With russet, red and gold and skies of blue,
Yet over all a melancholy hue--
A hectic beauty soon to fade away!
And now how strange it seems to you and me,
That even those who loved him passed the light;
That years rolled by in scorn and mockery
Before his star rose clear above the Night;
As if those ultra rays men could not see
Were rays divine, too fine for human sight.