Explore "What the Thrush Said" by John Keats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, / Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist, / And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, / To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
O thou, whose only book has been the light / Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on / Night after night when Phœbus was away, / To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn.
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.