1.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
2.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
More verses by John Keats
- Think Of It Not, Sweet One
- Endymion: Book I
- The Human Seasons
- Fragment Of An Ode To Maia
- Fill For Me A Brimming Bowl