John Keats

“ Musing on Milton's fate -- on Sydney's bier --
Till their stern forms before my mind arise:
Perhaps on the wing of Poesy upsoar,
Full often dropping a delicious tear,
When some melodious sorrow spells mine eyes. ”

“ And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds, -- far, far away to leave
All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve
From little cares; ”