On Visiting the Tomb of Burns

Author: John Keats  | Date: 1818

ON VISITING THE TOMB OF BURNS

The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,

The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,

Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream

I dreamed long ago, now new begun.

The short-liv’d, paly summer is but won

From winter’s ague for one hour’s gleam;

Through sapphire warm their stars do never beam:

All is cold Beauty; pain is never done.

For who has mind to relish, Minos-wise,

The real of Beauty, free from that dead hue

Sickly imagination and sick pride

Cast wan upon it? Burns! with honour due

I oft have honour’d thee. Great shadow, hide

Thy face; I sin against thy native skies.

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Chicago: John Keats, On Visiting the Tomb of Burns Original Sources, accessed July 3, 2022, http://originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=QR2JHDAWPTRQD5K.

MLA: Keats, John. On Visiting the Tomb of Burns, Original Sources. 3 Jul. 2022. http://originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=QR2JHDAWPTRQD5K.

Harvard: Keats, J, On Visiting the Tomb of Burns. Original Sources, retrieved 3 July 2022, from http://originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=QR2JHDAWPTRQD5K.