Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
For I am brimfull of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.
More verses by John Keats
- Specimen Of An Induction To A Poem
- Sonnet Iii. Written On The Day That Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison
- Lines Rhymed In A Letter From Oxford
- What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds
- The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies: A Faery Tale -- Unfinished