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John Keats

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The Dream Book

Through the glade there wound a quiet brook Where I designed to sit and read a book There sung to sleep by the morning sun lost the book that I had brought, and dreamt one As the breeze would stir to turn the page I walked strange forests from another age Like a ghost that travels on the air I passed through a stranger’s dream, and woke there In that dream world of gray and shadow The stranger’s dream was dull and hollow Plodding one step on and then the next Nothing waiting at the end, only rest There I forgot it was just a dream Forgot that I lay sleeping by the stream Became the stranger I didn’t know And thought that I was living, even so Somewhere I slept with eyes wide open As I walked a lightless world and ashen Where in a languid pool I thought I’d scry To ask a single question, who am I? And there deep into the pool I fell The shallow stream stretched to become a well 'til it tossed me out

Nothing Like a Rose

Dreaming's End

Here where darkness fills my slumber Invading dreams with dreams A world of shades and soundless shapes Never resting teems No morn will come nor dreaming end Lest dreams within my dreams Where moonlight filters through the brume And no starlight gleams Warmth nor comfort provide that light To dreams as winter cold Or windswept ground and barren stone Where none is condoled Here where laughter turns to toil And joy becomes a chore Where one may dream of ending dreams Trapped beneath the hoar When weary, tired, comfort calls Obligation smiles keep So laughter's effort will not fail Children that would weep In dreams I haunt these empty halls Yet void of memories Where fire simply turned to frost Quenched by Erinyes Those furies drawn so long ago Their vengeance absolute They dreams enough for all the world Ended at the root But they remembered Sisyphus As they hewed new dreams of stone And set my shoulder to the task Never to atone So here in dreams o

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John Keats

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