Blessed Is The Healthy Nature; It Is

And Shade The Violets, That They May Bind The Moss In Leafy Nets.

Should Disappointment, Parent Of Despair, Strive For Her Son To Seize My Careless Heart; When, Like A Cloud, He Sits Upon The Air, Preparing On His Spell-bound Prey To Dart: Chase Him Away, Sweet Hope, With Visage Bright, And Fright Him As The Morning Frightens Night!

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

I Do Think Better Of Womankind Than To Suppose They Care Whether Mister John Keats Five Feet High Likes Them Or Not.

It Keeps Eternal Whisperings Around Desolate Shores