How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,-I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; ’tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds-the whispering of the leaves-
The voice of waters-the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,-and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
(John Keats)
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Based on Topics: Time Poems, Music Poems, Food PoemsBased on Keywords: uproar, throngs, gild, unnumbered, intrude, bereaves, lapses, disturbance, recognizance, birds-the, waters-the