Keats, Shelley & Corso

I thought I'd recite some of my favorite poetry sitting in some flowers on cloudy Labor Day. from Endymion by John Keats A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. from Mont Blanc by Percy Bysshe Shelley The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark, now glittering, now reflecting gloom Now lending splendor, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap forever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves. A star by Gregory Corso A star is as far as the eye can see and as near as my eye is to me For poetry, English lessons, and other stuff check out my blog: donyorty.com/​blog