To Benjamin Robert Haydon (London, November 20, 1816)

My dear Sir

Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you the following —

Yours unfeignedly,

John Keats.

Removed to 76 Cheapside.

Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;

He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,

Who on Helvellyn’s summit, wide awake,

Catches his freshness from Archangel’s wing:

He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom’s sake:

And lo! — whose stedfastness would never take

A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering.

And other spirits there are standing apart

Upon the forehead of the age to come;

These, these will give the world another heart,

And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum

Of mighty workings in the human mart?

Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.