Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/269



 O fret not after knowledge!—I have none, And yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge!—I have none, And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens At thought of idleness cannot be idle, And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.

 WRITTEN BEFORE RE-READING KING LEAR.

 TO THE NILE.

of the old moon-mountains African! Stream of the Pyramid and Crocodile! We call thee fruitful, and that very while A desert fills our seeing's inward span: 