For Keats my pen flows,
This is for them who say
Little imagery the poet shows
His verses near the nature sway.
If only Endymion they read
There are doubts they did that ever
Cause hath not they then realised
That a thing of beauty is a joy forever.
His myriad verses flow and say
of Greek gods and goddesses great
And the earthly trifles that came his way
With profound wisdom in imagination's spate.
Melancholy, solitude and beauty taut,
On diverse fancies his poetry dwelled
Odes he wrote on many a thought
For many a cause, his emotions swelled.
He had his doubts though,
Fears that he may cease to be
Before he could pen his thought flow
Wish his glory he could foresee!