And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted… — John Milton Copy Share Image
“But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways… — John Keats Copy Share Image
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of… — John Keats Copy Share Image
