Parading

Down Sally Cow Lane and Elsewhere

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn —John Keats
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
—John Keats

atoms

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