"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"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."
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Source: John Keats (1818). “The Complete Works of John Keats”, p.241
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