John Keats Quotes

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, / Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; / Conspiring with him how to load and bless / With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run.

- John Keats

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Soon, up aloft, / The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. - John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains / My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. - John Keats