The Eve Of St. Agnes (John Keats Poems)
I.St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen ...
I.St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen ...
IA hundred years! they're quickly fled, With all their joy and sorrow;Their dead leaves shed upon the dead, Their fresh ones sprung ...
Ah, the memories that find me now my hair is turning gray,Drifting in like painted butterflies from paddocks far away;Dripping ...
A simple, sodded mound of earth, Without a line above it; With only daily votive flowers To prove that any love it: The token ...
Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto.Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleepsIn vallombrosa's bosom, and dark treesBend with a ...
I. What deity for dozing laziness Devised the lounging coziness of this Enchanted nook?--and how!--did I distress His musing ease that fled but now, ...
PLACE this bunch of mignonetteIn her cold, dead hand;When the golden sun is set,Where the poplars stand,Bury her from sun ...
Ah ! did you, dearest, understandHow love possessed and mastered me,Till all my being seemed to beWithin the hollow of ...
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fellThro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,And with its rich, deep, ...
What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? ...
I have found out a gift for my fair; I know where the fossils abound,Where the footprints of Aves declare ...
I HAD found out a gift for my fair, I had found where the cave-men were laid; Skull, femur, and ...
OH, England is a pleasant place for them that 's rich and high; But England is a cruel place for ...
St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through ...
What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? ...
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