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John Keats - Sonnet IX. Keen, Fitful Gusts Are
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Keen, fitful gusts are whisp`ring here and there 
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; 
The stars look very cold about the sky, 
And I have many miles on foot to fare. 
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air, 
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, 
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, 
Or of the distance from home`s pleasant lair: 
For I am brimfull of the friendliness 
That in a little cottage I have found; 
Of fair-hair`d Milton`s eloquent distress, 
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown`d; 
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, 
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown`d.
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