Sonnet II: To ----

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    Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
    Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
    Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
    Would passion arm me for the enterprize:
    But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
    No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
    I am no happy shepherd of the dell
    Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
    Yet must I doat upon thee, call thee sweet,
    Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses
    When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.
    Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
    And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
    I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.

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Return to the John Keats Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet I: To My Brother George

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