| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXIV. Bitter Sorrow
To Chatterton | | By John Keats (1795–1821) |
| | | O CHATTERTON! how very sad thy fate! | |
| Dear child of sorrow—son of misery! | |
| How soon the film of death obscur’d that eye, | |
| Whence Genius mildly flash’d, and high debate. | |
| How soon that voice, majestic and elate, | 5 |
| Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh | |
| Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die | |
| A half-blown flow’ret which cold blasts amate. | |
| But this is past: thou art among the stars | |
| Of highest Heaven: to the rolling spheres | 10 |
| Thou sweetly singest: naught thy hymning mars, | |
| Above the ingrate world and human fears. | |
| On earth the good man base detraction bars | |
| From thy fair name, and waters it with tears. | | | | |
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