A prophecy: To George Keats in America



'Tis 'the wiching time of night'
Orbed is the Moon and bright
And the Stars they glisten, glisten
Seeming with bright eyes to listen
For what listen they?
For a song and for a charm
See they glisten in alarm
And the Moon is waxing warm
To hear what I shall say.
Moon keep wide thy golden ears
Hearken Stars, and hearken Spheres
Hearken thou eternal Sky
I sing an infant's lullaby
A prety Lullaby!
Listen, Listen, listen, listen
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten
And hear my lullaby?
Though the Rushes that will make
Its cradle still are in the lake:
Though the linnen then that will be
Its swathe is on the cotton tree;
Though the wollen that will keep
It warm, is on the sille sheep;
Listen Stars light, listen, listen,
Glisten, Glisten, glisten, glisten
And hear my lullaby!
Child! I see thee! Child I've found thee!
Midst of the quiet all around thee!
Child I see thee! Childe I spy thee
And thy mother sweet is nigh thee!-
Child I know thee! Child no more
But a Poet evermore
See, See the Lyre, the Lyre
In a flame of fire
Upon the little cradle's top
Flaring, flaring, flaring
Past the eyesight's bearing -
Awake it from its sleep
And see if it can keep
Its eyes upon the blaze.
Amaze! Amaze!
It stares, it stares, it stares
It dares what no one dares
If lifts its little hand into the flame
Unharm'd, and on the strings
Paddles a little tune and sings
With dumb endeavour sweetly!
Bard art thou completely!
Little Child
O' the western wild
Bard art thou completely!-
Sweetly with dumb endeavour -
A Poet now or never!
Little Child
O' the western wild
A Poet now or never!
[Read the biographical context.]
[Read the letter containing this poem.]