Maxioms by John Keats
In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer read more
In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.
No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
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No, no, I'm sure,
My restless spirit never could endure
To brood so long upon one luxury,
Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality
Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to read more
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.