Månadens inspiration:
En dikt av: John Keats (1795-1821)
ur Endymion
A thing
of beauty is a joy for ever:
Nor
do we merely feel these essences
its
loveliness increases: it will never
pass
into nothingness; but still will keep
a
bower quiet for us, and a sleep
full
of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore,
on every morrow, are we wreathing
a
flowery band to bind us to the earth,
spite
of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
of
noble natures, of the gloomy days,
of
all the unhealthy and o'er-darken'd ways
made
for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
some
shape of beauty moves away the pall
from
our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
trees
old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
for
simple sheep; and such are daffodils
with
the green world they live in; and clear rills
that
for themselves a coolingcovert make
'gainst
the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
rich
with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms;
and
such too is the grandeur of the dooms
we
have imagined for the mighty dead;
all
lovely tales that we have heard or read:
an
endless fountain of immortal drink,
pouring
unto us from the heaven's brink.
for
one short hour; no, even as the trees
that
whisper round a temple become soon
dear
as the temple's self, so does the moon,
the
passion poesy, glories infinite
haunt
us till they become a cheering light
unto
our souls, and bound to us so fast,
that,
whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
they
always must be with us, or we die.
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