Sonnet: Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of 'The Floure And The Lefe'

by


    This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
    The honied lines do freshly interlace,
    To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
    So that he here and there full hearted stops;
    And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops
    Come cool and suddenly against his face,
    And by the wandering melody may trace
    Which way the tender-legged linnet hops.
    Oh! What a power hath white simplicity!
    What mighty power has this gentle story!
    I, that for ever feel athirst for glory,
    Could at this moment be content to lie
    Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
    Were heard of none beside the mournful robbins.

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Return to the John Keats Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet: Written Upon The Top Of Ben Nevis

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