Explore "To -- -- -" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs / Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell / Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well / Would passion arm me for the enterprise:
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies; / No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; / I am no happy shepherd of the dell / Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
Yet must I dote upon thee, -- call thee sweet, / Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses / When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet, / And when the moon her pallid face discloses, / I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.