Maxioms by John Keats
To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And though to leave her far away behind;
But read more
To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And though to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly:
She is so constant to me, and so kind.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
St Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
Oh for a life of sensations rather than thoughts.
Oh for a life of sensations rather than thoughts.
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?
