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John Keats - What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds
Work rating: Medium

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter`s wind,
   Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist 
   And the black elm tops `mong the freezing stars, 
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time. 
O thou, whose only book has been the light 
   Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on 
   Night after night when Phoebus was away, 
   To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn. 
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, 
   And yet my song comes native with the warmth. 
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, 
   And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens 
At thought of idleness cannot be idle, 
And he`s awake who thinks himself asleep.
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