On Keats

A garden in a garden: a green spot
Where all is green: most fitting slumber-place
For the strong man grown weary of a race
Soon over.  Unto him a goodly lot
Hath fallen in fertile ground ; there thorns are not,
But his own daisies; silence, full of grace,
Surely hath shed a quiet on his face ;
His earth is but sweet leaves that fall and rot.
What was his record of himself, ere he
Went from us ?  "Here lies one whose name was writ
In water."  While the chilly shadows flit
Of sweet St. Agnes' Eve, while basil springs—
His name, in every humble heart that sings,
Shall be a fountain of love, verily.

18 January 1849 (Eve of St. Agnes).