Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there <br />Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; <br />The stars look very cold about the sky, <br />And I have many miles on foot to fare. <br />Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air, <br />Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, <br />Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, <br />Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair: <br />For I am brimfull of the friendliness <br />That in a little cottage I have found; <br />Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress, <br />And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd; <br />Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, <br />And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-ix-keen-fitful-gusts-are/
