My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
-Keats, Ode to a Nightingale
Last update // 28 September 2004 | Mood // Chuffed | Music // As Time Goes By by Sinatra | Poetry Collection // The Cantos of Ezra Pound | Poem // Poems in Braille by MacEwan | Film // Casablanca | Novel // The Island of the Day Before by Eco
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