John Albee - Keats's Love-Letters lyrics

Rest, hunted spirit! Canst thou never sleep? Ah, when the ghouls and vampires of the Press Vex all thy tender soul in wantonness, Canst thou know aught of peace, but still must weep! What! shall thy heart's rich blood, poured out so deep, Be made a merchandise without redress, Nor any voice the world's base deed confess Which prints and sells a poet's love so cheap? My curse upon this prying, prurient age! And curst the eyes not closed in angry shame! For him whom English air and critic pen Twice baffled ere his splendid, youthful gage Had measured half the heaven of love and fame, This shameless book has murdered once again!