How Many Bards Gild the Lapses of Time

John Keats(1795–1821)

The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1816

How many bards gild the lapses of time!A few of them have ever been the foodOf my delighted fancy,—I could broodOver their beauties, earthly, or sublime:And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,These will in throngs before my mind intrude:But no confusion, no disturbance rudeDo they occasion; 't is a pleasing chime.So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;The songs of birds—the whisp'ring of the leaves—The voice of waters—the great bell that heavesWith solemn sound,—and thousand others more,That distance of recognizance bereaves,Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

From The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats (1816), via the English Wikisource transcription.

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