Our rude forefathers deem'd it two:
Can you imagine so absurd

A view?

Forever! What abysms of woe

The word reveals, what frenzy, what
Despair! For ever (printed so)

Did not.

It looks, ah me! how trite and tame!

It fails to sadden or appal
Or solace – it is not the same

At all.

O thou to whom it first occurr'd

To solder the disjoin'd, and dower
Thy native language with a word

Of power:

We bless thee! Whether far or near

Thy dwelling, whether dark or fair
Thy kingly brow, is neither here

Nor there.

But in men's hearts shall be thy throne,

While the great pulse of England beats:
Thou coiner of a word unknown

To Keats!

And nevermore must printer do

As men did long ago; but run
"For" into "ever," bidding two

Be one.

Forever! passion-fraught, it throws

O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour:
It's sweet, it's strange; and I suppose

It's grammar.

Forever! 'Tis a single word!

And yet our fathers deem'd it two:
Nor am I confident they err'd;