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Amy Lowell - To John Keats
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Great master! Boyish, sympathetic man! 
 Whose orbed and ripened genius lightly hung 
 From life`s slim, twisted tendril and there swung 
In crimson-sphered completeness; guardian 
Of crystal portals through whose openings fan 
 The spiced winds which blew when earth was young, 
 Scattering wreaths of stars, as Jove once flung 
A golden shower from heights cerulean. 
 Crumbled before thy majesty we bow. 
  Forget thy empurpled state, thy panoply 
Of greatness, and be merciful and near; 
 A youth who trudged the highroad we tread now 
  Singing the miles behind him; so may we 
Faint throbbings of thy music overhear.
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