John Keats

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
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When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury--he has never done
With his delights, for when tired out with fun,
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I read more

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.

A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it.

A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.