Explore "Epistle to my Brother George" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Full many a dreary hour have I past, / My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast / With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought / No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught / From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze / On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays; / Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely, / Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:
That I should never hear Apollo's song, / Though feathery clouds were floating all along / The purple west, and, two bright streaks between, / The golden lyre itself were dimly seen: