Explore "On -- -- -" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Think not of it, sweet one, so; --
Give it not a tear; / Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go / Any -- any where.
Do not look so sad, sweet one, --
Sad and fadingly; / Shed one drop, then it is gone, / Oh! 'twas born to die!
Still so pale? then dearest weep; / Weep, I'll count the tears, / For each will I invent a bliss / For thee in after years.
Brighter has it left thine eyes / Than a sunny rill; / And thy whispering melodies / Are more tender still.
Yet -- as all things mourn awhile / At fleeting blisses; / E'en let us too; but be our dirge / A dirge of kisses.