Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Keats
KEATS
“Here lies one whose name was writ on water”
Beyond the wall that belts the town,
Where grand Saint Peter’s titan crown
Looks apostolically down;
With shrunken form and shrouded lid,
The Song Bird—not the Song—is hid
Near Caius Cestius’ pyramid.
There purer from his Roman pyre,
The star-eyed Skylark of the Choir,[1]
Slumbers, a radiant Child of Fire!
Twin bards—twin death! no slander parts,
With livid tongue and venomed darts,
The Soul of Souls and “Heart of Hearts.”
The coheirs of Porphyrogene,
Their dreams are royal and serene
Beneath the Night’s sweet sybil queen.
Methinks, their sad song sadly calls
From every breeze that swells and falls
Along the Coliseum’s halls.
And that sad song shall murmur there,
Upon the pulses of the air,
With incense-wings of warbled prayer.
And it shall sigh and fondly flit
When dome and tomb are bright moonlit,
O’er him whose name was water-writ.
’Twas writ on water, but the wave
That surges from a hallowed grave
Is not old Ocean’s liquid slave.
’Tis the tumultuous Sea of Song—
The Scroll of the Anointed Throng
To whom eternities belong!
Thy name, dear Keats, had water-birth,
And now, in its majestic worth,
It heaves its billows over earth!
- ↑ Shelley.