You Say You Love

Poem By John Keats

I
You say you love ; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth-
O love me truly!

II
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid 's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!

III
You say you love but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses,
More than coral in the sea
They never pout for kisses
O love me truly!

IV
You say you love ; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is like a statue's dead
While mine to passion burneth
O love me truly!

V
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should bum me,
Squeeze as lovers should O kiss
And in thy heart inurn me!
O love me truly!

Comments about You Say You Love

Loving in words but not in action.
You say you love; but then your hand No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth, It is like a statue's dead While mine to passion burneth O love me truly! ...// beautiful loving poem; really I love this piece
Romance lives! Keats (and Yates) are on our side.
Charged with outspoken sexual engergy like some former day " Pepe Le Pew" , poor old John would probably have to go home and take himself in hand with this girl; can't he take a hint?
Great passionate words from John Keats capable of striking at cold heats with all the intensity of love.


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Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,

When I Have Fears

When I have fears that I may cease to be
my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
high-piled books, in charactery,

Ode To A Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

His Last Sonnet

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art! -
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode Of Paolo And Francesca

As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft