A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; Its loveliness increases;it will never pass into nothingness;but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams,and health and quiet breathing Therefore on every morrow,are we wreathing ..... I must be near the middle of my story o may no wintry season,bare and hoary My uncertain path with green that i may speed Easily onward, through flowers and weed ...John Keats
Posted on: Wed, 19 Jun 2013 07:27:09 +0000