- To a Young Lady Who Sent Me a Laurel Crown
- John Keats
- Exported from Wikisource on 03/21/20
- Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
- From my glad bosom - now from gloominess
- I mount for ever - not an atom less
- Than the proud laurel shall content my bier.
- No! by the eternal stars! or why sit here
- In the Sun's eye, and 'gainst my temples press
- Apollo's very leaves, woven to bless
- By thy white fingers and thy spirit clear.
- Lo! who dares say, "Do this"? Who dares call down
- My will from its high purpose? Who say,"Stand,"
- Or, "Go"? This mighty moment I would frown
- On abject Caesars - not the stoutest band
- Of mailed heroes should tear off my crown:
- Yet would I kneel and kiss thy gentle hand.
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