John Keats (1795–1821)

GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning;

He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,

Who on Helvellyn’s summit, wide awake,

Catches his freshness from Archangel’s wing;

He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom’s sake:

And lo!—whose steadfastness would never take

A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering.

And other spirits there are standing apart

Upon the forehead of the age to come;

These, these will give the world another heart

And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum

Of mighty workings in the human mart?

Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.