This was written by
John Keats, probably in the summer of 1817. A
charming love
poem, it is one of his earliest, and probably not written about anyone in
particular.
Hither, hither, love
Hither, hither, love
'Tis a shady mead;
Hither, hither, love,
Let us feed and feed.
Hither, hither, sweet,
'Tis a cowslip bed;
Hither, hither, sweet,
'Tis with dew bespread.
Hither, hither, dear,
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear,
Be the summer's wife.
Though one moment's pleasure
In one moment flies,
Though the passion's treasure
In one moment dies;
Yet it has not pass'd--
Think how near, how near;
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear.
Hither, hither, hither,
Love this boon has sent;
If I die and wither,
I shall die content.