Explore "On Death" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, / And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem, / And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam, / And lead a life of woe, but not forsake / His rugged path; nor dare he view alone / His future doom, which is but to awake.