Severn, dear Severn, friend of our boy-bard,
Thy hallowed offices of love for whom
Through that long closing agony in Rome
Outshine bright beams of great verse we would guard
Among the soul's regalia unmarred,
Thy patient loving care in that dark doom
That fell on Keats, the singer, doth illume
Our night of life above the noblest word
Of noblest poet; yet I love the boy
Who sang and suffered, saw the glorious sight
Behind the poor appearance, child of light,
Told some of his high vision, nursed a joy,
Undreamed by those who stoned him, sons of earth,
Denying, hating, envying his high birth.