Saturday, November 22, 2014

Crazy Little Winter, Keats, Summer


...O sweet Fancy! let her loose; 


Every thing is spoilt by use: 


Where's the cheek that doth not fade, 


Too much gazed at? Where's the maid 


Whose lip mature is ever new? 


Where's the eye, however blue, 


Doth not weary? Where's the face 


One would meet in every place? 


Where's the voice, however soft,


One would hear so very oft? 


At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 


 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth..

~ the sixth stanza of Fancy by Keats ~

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and this... it's not Keats...but I like it just the same...