her head cool -- for the day
the voice of summer passing delight
a sweet pleasure of pale beams:
shells of blissful soundless zephyrs
moons silver glitterings in all wealth
the trees close and delightveil'd.
my teeming faery heart aches with flowers.
the first sigh of the forest's silent deep.
[generated/wrangled out of Botnik using the John Keats Voice.]