Sonnet X - Keats

To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, - to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel, - an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

I. To My Brother George
II. To * * * * * *
III. Written on the day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left Prison
IV.
V. To a Friend who sent me some Roses
VI. To G. A. W
VII.
VIII. To My Brothers
IX.
X.
XI. On first looking into Chapman's Homer
XII. On leaving some Friends at an early Hour
XIII. Addressed to Haydon
XIV. Addressed to the Same
XV. On the Grasshopper and Cricket
XVI. To Kosciusko
XVII. - Keats