Explore "To John Hamilton Reynolds" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O that a week could be an age, and we / Felt parting and warm meeting every week; / Then one poor year a thousand years would be, / The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
So could we live long life in little space, / So time itself would be annihilate.
So a day's journey in oblivious haze / To serve our joys would lengthen and dilate.
O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind!
To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant!
In little time a host of joys to bind, / And keep our souls in one eternal pant!
This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught / Me how to harbor such a happy thought.