                                      1816
                KEEN FITFUL GUSTS ARE WHISP'RING HERE AND THERE
                                 by John Keats

        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.


                        THE END
