Lines On Seeing A Lock Of Milton's Hair

by John Keats

    Chief of organic Numbers!
    Old Scholar of the Spheres!
    Thy spirit never slumbers,
    But rolls about our ears
    For ever and for ever.
    O, what a mad endeavour
    Worketh he
    Who, to thy sacred and ennobled hearse,
    Would offer a burnt sacrifice of verse
    And Melody!

    How heavenward thou soundedst
    Live Temple of sweet noise;
    And discord unconfoundedst:
    Giving delight new joys,
    And Pleasure nobler pinions
    O where are thy Dominions!
    Lend thine ear
    To a young delian oath aye, by thy soul,
    By all that from thy mortal Lips did roll;
    And by the Kernel of thine earthly Love,
    Beauty, in things on earth and things above,
    When every childish fashion
    Has vanish'd from my rhyme
    Will I grey-gone in passion
    Give to an after-time
    Hymning and harmony
    Of thee, and of thy Words and of thy Life:
    But vain is now the bruning and the strife
    Pangs are in vain until I grow high-rife
    With Old Philosophy
    And mad with glimpses at futurity!

    For many years my offerings must be hush'd:
    When I do speak I'll think upon this hour,
    Because I feel my forehead hot and flush'd,
    Even at the simplest vassal of thy Power,
    A Lock of thy bright hair!
    Sudden it came,
    And I was startled when I heard thy name
    Coupled so unaware
    Yet, at the moment, temperate was my blood:
    Methought I had beheld it from the flood.