Life's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb;
Long hours have to and fro let crept 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 the midnight sky,
But I hold thine eyes' well memoried light;
I never gaze 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 harkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense: Thou dost eclipse
Other delights with thy remembering,
and sorrow to my darling joys dost bring..
John Keats, 1819