Softly the breezes from the forest came, Softly they blew aside the taper's flame; Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower; Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower; Mysterious, wild, the far-heard trumpet's tone; Lovely the moon in ether, all alone: Sweet too, the converse of these happy mortals, As that of busy spirits when the portals. Are closing in the west; or that soft humming. We hear around when Hesperus is coming. Sweet be their sleep.
John KeatsAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: October 31, 1795
- Died: February 23, 1821
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