Classic Poem

Out of the fevers and dark imaginations
That were his day, he would turn to the mirrored quietness,
The imaged world, ordered from the desires
Of those his fathers whose fevers were as his own,
And there he found the peace of understanding
In Troys and Fairylands and Heaven and Hell.

And thence the brain that was John Keats took power
To build an imaged world his own, and devise
Shape for the fevers and dark imaginations,
Winnowing, moulding all, till all was beauty.

Now again we are but blind men, darkly
Fingering circumstance, sick men with our fevers,
And his brief time of passion and frustration
Shines over us, an image for our doctrine,
A sorrow shaped, a speculation bodied,
That we the clearlier may behold ourselves,
Because of his bright moons and nightingales.

And thus alone shall be the world's salvation.