John Keat's poem. Part I

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

  My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

  One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,        5

  But being too happy in thine happiness,—

    That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

          In some melodious plot

  Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

    Singest of summer in full-throated ease.        10