Poem of the Week LXXII

I was just reading In the Country of Hearts by John Stone. I started reading it shortly after I ordered it last February, so it's a little sad that I am just picking it up now to finish it. I was reading the chapter "Putting the Head and Heart to Sleep" and Stone mentions the poet John Keats' time in medical school.

Ultimately Keats chose poetry over medicine. I love this poem and think it's appropriate for this snow-sprinkled morning. I just love the line, "the feel of not to feel it." How beautiful!

In Drear-Nighted December

John Keats

In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In drear-nighted December,

Too happy, happy brook,

Thy bubblings ne'er remember

Apollo's summer look;

But with a sweet forgetting,

They stay their crystal fretting,

Never, never petting

About the frozen time.

Ah! would 'twere so with many

A gentle girl and boy!

But were there ever any

Writhed not at passed joy?

The feel of not to feel it,

When there is none to heal it

Nor numbed sense to steel it,

Was never said in rhyme.