|by John Keats|
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 unnumber’d sounds that evening store;|
|The songs of birds—the whisp’ring of the leaves—|
|The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves|
|With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,|
|That distance of recognizance bereaves,|
| Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.|
Note: A recitation can be heard here.
- Mark Olival-Bartley
- Mark Olival-Bartley studied applied linguistics at Hawaii Pacific University, attaining B.A. and M.A. degrees in TESOL. He is now writing a dissertation on the sonnets of E. A. Robinson at LMU München, where he tutors composition alongside editing flyers on poetry and style. He teaches English at Münchner Volkshochschule and leads the Amerikahaus Literaturkreis. He is also the resident poet at EcoHealth, where his science-themed verse is regularly featured.