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Keen Fitful Gusts are Whispring Here and There

 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.

by John Keats
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