Poetry Friday

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

6

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

For the full poem go here.
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Let me know if I missed you.

Updated to add:

Bildungsroman (Little Willow) with Pieces of Georgia

And updated again:

Susan Taylor Brown and Ogden Nash