Ode to a Nightingale
Oleh: John Keats
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains<br>
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,<br>
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains<br>
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:<br>
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,<br>
But being too happy in thine happiness,—<br>
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,<br>
In some melodious plot<br>
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,<br>
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.