Classic Poem

'T IS sweet to linger in the mellow grass
Beside the margin of a lisping stream
And watch the clouds in white flotillas pass,
While Nature slumbers in a fragrant dream,
To list the robin's song so soft and sweet,
Like ripples of an Eden interlude,
Float down cool woodland avenues replete
With benisons of drowsy solitude,
To note the fingers of the lazy breeze
Play symphonies upon the languid ferns
And on the bearded wheat wake mimic seas.
With bliss the idle dreamer dizzy turns
And thinks, as kine-bells tinkle on his ear,
Keats's melodious spirit wanders near.