Poems (King)/To Keats

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To Keats
SNATCHED in life's flower away
Ere broke thy laureled day,
Ere from thy spirit strong
Burst half its prisoned song,

Thou didst the great world-heart
Win by thy matchless art,
What though thy days were brief,
What though surcharged with grief.

Now o'er thine alien grave,
Hard by the Tiber's wave,
Oft to the Roman sky
Riseth the pilgrim sigh.

Honor and deathless fame
Halo thy magic name,
Ah! not "in water writ,"—
Graved on our heart is it!

Builder of lofty rhyme,
Mage of the art sublime,
Marble to dust may fly,
Thy verse can never die.

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