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William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.

Time’s Sea Hath Been Five Years at Its Slow Ebb

John Keats (1795–1821)

TIME’S sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,

Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,

Since I was tangled in thy beauty’s web,

And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.

And yet I never look on midnight sky,

But I behold thine eyes’ well memoried light;

I cannot look upon the rose’s dye,

But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.

I cannot look on any budding flower,

But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips

And harkening for a love-sound, doth devour

Its sweets in the wrong sense:—Thou dost eclipse

Every delight with sweet remembering,

And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.