To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall. 
By Keats, John. 


Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb;
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.
And yet I never look on midnight sky
But I behold thine eyes' well memoried light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight;
I cannot look on any budding flower
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips,
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense: -Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.