After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains

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.
 

Poems by This Author

Endymion, Book I, [A thing of beauty is a joy for ever] by John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever
Lamia [Left to herself] by John Keats
Left to herself, the serpent now began
Bright Star by John Keats
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art
I cry your mercy—pity—love!—ay, love by John Keats
I cry your mercy—pity—love!—ay, love
In drear nighted December by John Keats
In drear nighted December
La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer by John Keats
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold
On Seeing the Elgin Marbles by John Keats
My spirit is too weak—mortality
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket by John Keats
The poetry of earth is never dead:
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone by John Keats
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone
The Eve of St. Agnes, XXIII, [Out went the taper as she hurried in] by John Keats
Out went the taper as she hurried in
The Human Seasons by John Keats
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
This Living Hand by John Keats
This living hand, now warm and capable
To a Friend who sent me some Roses by John Keats
As late I rambled in the happy fields
To Autumn by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
To Fanny by John Keats
Physician Nature! let my spirit blood
To Haydon with a Sonnet Written on Seeing the Elgin Marbles by John Keats
Haydon! Forgive me, that I cannot speak
When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be by John Keats
When I have fears that I may cease to be


Further Reading

Spring
Endymion, Book I, [A thing of beauty is a joy for ever]
by John Keats
The Winter's Tale Act IV, Scene II [When daffodils begin to peer]
by William Shakespeare
A Blessing
by James Wright
Alcove
by John Ashbery
Another Attempt at Rescue
by M. L. Smoker
Birds Again
by Jim Harrison
Black Petal
by Li-Young Lee
Butterfly Catcher
by Tina Cane
Chansons Innocentes: I
by E. E. Cummings
City That Does Not Sleep
by Federico García Lorca
Diary [Surface]
by Rachel Zucker
Each year
by Dora Malech
From you have I been absent in the spring... (Sonnet 98)
by William Shakespeare
Hustlers with Bad Timing
by D. A. Powell
If a Wilderness
by Carl Phillips
In cold spring air
by Reginald Gibbons
In the Memphis Airport
by Timothy Steele
Lines Written in Early Spring
by William Wordsworth
Magdalen Walks
by Oscar Wilde
Morning News
by Marilyn Hacker
National Poetry Month
by Elaine Equi
Papyrus
by Ezra Pound
Prologue of the Earthly Paradise
by William Morris
Song On May Morning
by John Milton
Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Spring
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring and All [By the road to the contagious hospital]
by William Carlos Williams
Spring Day [Bath]
by Amy Lowell
Spring in New Hampshire
by Claude McKay
Spring is like a perhaps hand
by E. E. Cummings
spring love noise and all [excerpt]
by David Antin
Spring Snow
by Arthur Sze
Spring Song
by Sherwood Anderson
Spring Storm
by William Carlos Williams
Springing
by Marie Ponsot
The Enkindled Spring
by D. H. Lawrence
The Magpie's Shadow
by Yvor Winters
Thinking of Madame Bovary
by Jane Kenyon
Two Sewing
by Hazel Hall
Under the Willows [May is a pious fraud of the almanac]
by James Russell Lowell
Vernal Equinox
by Amy Lowell
[O were my love yon Lilac fair]
by Robert Burns