Amy Lowell: To John Keats

To John Keats

Great master!  Boyish, sympathetic man!  Whose orbed and ripened genius lightly hung  From life's slim, twisted tendril and there swung In crimson-sphered completeness; guardian Of crystal portals through whose openings fan  The spiced winds which blew when earth was young,  Scattering wreaths of stars, as Jove once flung A golden shower from heights cerulean.  Crumbled before thy majesty we bow.   Forget thy empurpled state, thy panoply Of greatness, and be merciful and near;  A youth who trudged the highroad we tread now   Singing the miles behind him; so may we Faint throbbings of thy music overhear.