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Sonnet. On Peace

Let the sweet mountain nymph thy favourite be,

With England's happiness proclaim Europa's Liberty...

 

 

 by John Keats

 

 

 

 

Sonnet To The Nile

 

 

 

 

 

Son of the old Moon-mountains African!

Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!

We call thee fruitful, and that very while

A desert fills our seeing's inward span:

Nurse of swart nations since the world began,

Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile

Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,

Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?

O may dark fancies err! They surely do;

'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste

Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew

Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste

The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,

And to the sea as happily dost haste.

 

 

 

Sonnet. On Peace 

 

 

 

 

O PEACE! and dost thou with thy presence bless

The dwellings of this war-surrounded Isle;

Soothing with placid brow our late distress,

Making the triple kingdom brightly smile?

Joyful I hail thy presence; and I hail

The sweet companions that await on thee;

Complete my joy let not my first wish fail,

Let the sweet mountain nymph thy favourite be,

With England's happiness proclaim Europa's Liberty.

O Europe! let not sceptred tyrants see

That thou must shelter in thy former state;

Keep thy chains burst, and boldly say thou art free;

Give thy kings law leave not uncurbed the great ;

So with the horrors past thou'lt win thy happier fate!

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