He has his lusty Spring,when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer,when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate,and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven:quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn,when his wings He furleth close;contented so to look On mists in idleness-to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:- He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 3.To a Friend who sent me some Roses by John Keats As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;-when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose;'twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer:graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. And,as I feasted on its fragrancy, I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: But when,O Wells!thy roses came to me My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd: Soft voices had they,that with tender plea Whisper'd of peace,and truth,and friendliness unquell'd. 4.Ode to a Nightingale by John KeatsHe has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:— He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 3. To a Friend who sent me some Roses by John Keats As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;—when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. And, as I feasted on its fragrancy, I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd: Soft voices had they, that with tender plea Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd. 4. Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats 1