Poetry of Keats

John Keats
born 1796, died 1820

To Solitude

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murly buildings: climb with me the steep, -
Nature's observatory - whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

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