"on death" by john keats

can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
and scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
the transient pleasures as a vision seem,
and yet we think the greatest pain's to die.

how strange it is that man on earth should roam,
and lead a life of woe, but not forsake
his rugged path; nor dare he view alone
his future doom which is but to awake.

my reply

i don't believe in future doom

or further yet of being awake

death and life me forsake

they always have