"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul."
"Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings."
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Source: John Keats, Helen Vendler (1990). “Poetry Manuscripts at Harvard”, p.34, Harvard University Press
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