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John Keats - 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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