John Keats

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port, / Away with old Hock and madeira, / Too earthly ye are for my sport;

Ah! ken ye what I met the day / Out oure the Mountains / A coming down by craggi[e]s grey

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes, / Nibble their toast, and cool their tea with sighs, / Or else forget the purpose of the night,

'Tis the witching hour of night, / Orbed is the moon and bright, / And the stars they glisten, glisten,

I. / There was a naughty boy, / A naughty boy was he,

Give me your patience, sister, while I frame / Exact in capitals your golden name; / Or sue the fair Apollo and he will

When they were come into Faery's Court / They rang, no one at home, all gone to sport / And dance and kiss and love as faerys do

Dark eyes are dearer far / Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell. / Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven, the domain

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl! / And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee, / And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,

Mrs. C. / Upon my Life Sir Nevis I am pique'd / That I have so far panted tugg'd and reek'd