Skip to main content

For John Keats, Apostle of Beauty

  • Share on Facebook
  • Share on Twitter
  • Share on Tumblr
  • View print mode
  • Copy embed code
Add to anthology
Countee Cullen
1903 –
1946

Not writ in water, nor in mist,
    Sweet lyric throat, thy name;
Thy singing lips that cold death kissed
    Have seared his own with flame.