Explore "To Chatterton" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow -- son of misery!
How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye, / Whence Genius mildly flash'd, and high debate.
How soon that voice, majestic and elate, / Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh / Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die / A half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate.
But this is past: thou art among the stars / Of highest Heaven: to the rolling spheres / Thou sweetly singest: nought thy hymning mars, / Above the ingrate world and human fears.
On earth the good man base detraction bars / From thy fair name, and waters it with tears.