Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
[from Ode to a Nightingale, by Keats]
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by Mari Adkins
Appalachian gothic fiction writer - my works reflect a love of literature flavored by the darkness and magic residing in these ancient mountains. In my spare time, I Sim, I TikTok, I journal, but I always have a very strange sense of humor. I have lived away from the mountains and lived deep in the mountains. I currently live in Central Kentucky with my life partner and his cat. The mountains, their culture, their superstitions, their particular magics, will always be in my blood.
View all posts by Mari Adkins