Sing to me,my dearest nightingale,said a shepherd to the silent songs tress one beautiful spring evening.Alas!said the nightingale,the frogs make so much noise,that I have no inclination to sing.Do you not hear them? Undoubtedly I hea...
John Keats (1795 - 1821) My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being to...
...
...