John Keats

“ And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
⁠The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath d trellis of a working brain,
⁠With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
⁠Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
⁠That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
⁠To let the warm Love in! ”

“ O, give me their old vigour, and unheard
⁠Save of the quiet Primrose, and the span
⁠⁠Of heaven and few ears.
Rounded by thee, my song should die away
⁠⁠Content as theirs,
Rich in the simple worship of a day. ”

“ So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
⁠Upon the midnight hours; ”