A thing of beauty is a joy forever it's love lines increase it will never pass into nothingness but will keep a bower quiet for us and a sleep full of sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing.
Therefore on every Morrow are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth spite of despondence of the inhuman dreath of noble natures of the gloomy days of all the unhealthy and Oer-darkend ways made for our searching yes in spite of all some shape of beauty moves of away the Paul from our dark spirits.
Such the Sun the moon trees old and young sprouting a shadys boon for simple sheep and such are daffodils with the green world they live in clear rills that for themselves a cooling covert make gainst the hot seasons the mid forest brake rich with a sprinkling of fair musk Rose blooms and such too is the grandeur of the dooms we have imagined for the mighty dead all lovely tales that we have heard or read;
An endless fountain of immortal drinks pouring unto us from the heaven drinks.
Written by: John Keats (1821) was a British romantic poet.
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