Text by John Keats (1795-1821):

To one who has been long in city pent,	
  ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair	
  And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer	
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.	
Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,	        
  Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair	
  Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair	
And gentle tale of love and languishment?	
Returning home at evening, with an ear	
  Catching the notes of Philomel,—an eye	        
Watching the sailing cloudlet’s bright career,	
  He mourns that day so soon has glided by:	
E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear	
  That falls through the clear ether silently.

 
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