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 memory’d 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.
John Keats, 1818
Top image: John S. Muller, ca. 1715–1792, German, active in Britain, Vauxhall Gardens shewing the Grand Walk at the Entrance of the Garden and the Orchestra with the Music Playing, after 1751, Etching and engraving, hand-colored, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection