After dark vapors have oppress’d our plains

by John Keats

After dark vapors have oppress’d our plains

For a long dreary season, comes a day

Born of the gentle South, and clears away

From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.

The anxious month, relieved of its pains,

Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May;

The eyelids with the passing coolness play

Like rose leaves with the drip of Summer rains.

The calmest thoughts came round us; as of leaves

Budding– fruit ripening in stillness– Autumn suns

Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves–

Sweet Sappho’s cheek– a smiling infant’s breath–

The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs–

A woodland rivulet– a Poet’s death.