by JohnKeats
To * * * * * *

To My Brother George

 Many the wonders I this day have seen:   The sun, when first he kist away the tears   That fill'd the eyes of morn;--the laurel'd peers Who from the feathery gold of evening lean:-- The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,   Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,--   Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears Must think on what will be, and what has been. E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,   Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,   And she her half-discover'd revels keeping. But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?