XXV

( John Keats )

As from the darkening gloom a silver dove

Upsoars and darts into the Eastern light,

On pinions that naught moves but delight,

So fled thy soul into the realms above,

Regions of peace and everlasting love;

Whwre spirits, crown'd with circlets bright

Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight

Taste the high joy none but the blest can prove.

There thou or joinest the immortal quire

In melodies that even Heaven fair

Fill with superior bliss, or, at desire

Of the almighty Father, cleavest the air

On holy message sent - What pleasure higer ?

Wherefore does any grief our joy impair ?