What the Thrush Said

John Keats 1795 –1821

O Thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,

Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,

And the black elm tops ’mong the freezing stars,

To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.

O thou, whose only book has been the light

Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on

Night after night when Phœbus was away,

To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn.

O fret not after knowledge—I have none,

And yet my song comes native with the warmth.

O fret not after knowledge—I have none,

And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens

At thought of idleness cannot be idle,

And he’s awake who thinks himself asleep.

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I’m filling the next chapter of One Poem Only and would love to include your work. Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. New this round: if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. No need for a perfect studio recording—just a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space. If you choose this option, you’ll submit your poem and an audio file of you reading it. Submissions close Thursday, July 30. I’ll respond by August 12. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you’re ready to share.