Ode to that one who stood on a little hill
You stood on a little hill
And with your words you filled
The blooming meadows below
You had remained like a glow
Upon the sky after a sunset,
Nightingale as sang at heaven's gate,
The most mellifluous one, ethereal, blessed,
How you longed for the music as you traced
The insignificant tiny things,glowworms insects
Bleating sheep, gnats and seasons dressed
In varied colors and flavour of their own,
A beautiful serene morn, a brief sojourn
To vales and riverside, oceans blue
How in your poems they get different hue,
And then your love for Fanny Brawne,
How it inundated you with musical sounds,
So many lyrical outpourings marvellous,
How it turned you both plebian and pious!
( a tribute to John Keats , on his birthday which is today)
You stood on a little hill
And with your words you filled
The blooming meadows below
You had remained like a glow
Upon the sky after a sunset,
Nightingale as sang at heaven's gate,
The most mellifluous one, ethereal, blessed,
How you longed for the music as you traced
The insignificant tiny things,glowworms insects
Bleating sheep, gnats and seasons dressed
In varied colors and flavour of their own,
A beautiful serene morn, a brief sojourn
To vales and riverside, oceans blue
How in your poems they get different hue,
And then your love for Fanny Brawne,
How it inundated you with musical sounds,
So many lyrical outpourings marvellous,
How it turned you both plebian and pious!
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