A Leak In The Safe

And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend

With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen;

Thou wast the mountain-top — the sage’s pen —

The poet’s harp — the voice of friends — the sun;

Thou wast the river — thou wast glory won;

Thou wast my clarion’s blast — thou wast my steed —

My goblet full of wine — my topmost deed: —

Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!

— John Keats

Who, that thou canst not be for ever here,

Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere?

Enchantress! tell me by this soft embrace,

By the most soft completion of thy face,

Those lips, O slippery blisses, twinkling eyes,

And by these tenderest milky sovereignties —

— John Keats

O woodland Queen

What smoothest air thy smoother forehead woos?

Where dost thou listen to the wide halloos

Of thy disparted nymphs? Through what dark tree

Glimmers thy crescent? Wheresoe’er it be,

‘Tis in the breath of heaven: thou dost taste

Freedom as none can taste it, nor does waste

Thy loveliness in dismal elements;

But, finding in our green earth sweet contents,

There livest blissfully.

— John Keats