| Love Poems - from AceDate |
| Poetry Home > Keats' Sonnets > IV. |
Sonnet IV. - KeatsA few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy,--I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude: But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime. So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; The songs of birds--the whisp'ring of the leaves-- The voice of waters--the great bell that heaves With solemn sound,--and thousand others more, That distance of recognizance bereaves, Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar. |