John Keats - Spenser, a Jealous Honorer of Thine lyrics

Spenser, a jealous honorer of thine, A forester deep in thy midmost trees, Did last eve ask my promise to refine Some English that might strive thine ear to please. But, Elfin-poet, 'tis impossible For an inhabitant of wintry earth To rise, like Phœbus, with a golden quell, Fire-wing'd, and make a morning in his mirth. It is impossible to escape from toil O' the sudden, and receive thy spiriting: The flower must drink the nature of the soil Before it can put forth its blossoming: Be with me in the summer days, and I Will for thine honor and his pleasure try.