The blues and greens conjured up here by Keats seem a far cry from the beige landscapes of winter.

His sonnet was written in answer to a fellow poet's extolling dark eyes over those "that mock the hyacinthine bell." He demolishes the opposition case.

SONNET

Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven, the domain

Of Cynthia, the wide palace of the sun,

The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,

The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey and dun.

Blue! 'Tis the life of waters: Ocean

And all its vassal streams, pools numberless,

May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can

Subside, if not to dark blue nativeness.

Blue! Gentle cousin of the forest-green,

Married to green in all the sweetest flowers,

Forget-me-not, the blue bell, and, that queen

Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers

Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great,

When in an eye thou art, alive with fate!