John Keats: five poets on his best poems, 200 years since his death – The Guardian

Ode to a Nightingale (1819)
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thine happiness,That thou, light-winged Dryad of the treesIn some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCool’d a long age in the deep-delved…

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