Ode
Feb. 1st '03

O willow sylph! Sweet maiden of the evening!
Where is thy rose? Where is thy dew?
In fair Attic she dwells, ever in joy, ever in sorrow.
Moonshine her consort, and snowfall her delight.
Perchance a flake would glance upon her face,
And there long ever to remain.
O Nightingale! Kin to Pan and Aphrodite!
A sorrow and a grief mingle in thy breast,
Such would set the world weeping,
With laughter, or with despair?

~Keats
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