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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421130" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421130" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,<br>Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist <br>And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, <br>To thee the spring will be a harvest-time. <br>O thou, whose only book has been the light <br>Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on <br>Night after night when Phoebus was away, <br>To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn. <br>O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, <br>And yet my song comes native with the warmth. <br>O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, <br>And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens <br>At thought of idleness cannot be idle, <br>And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</a></strong></div>

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