“Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!    No hungry generations tread thee down;  The voice I hear this passing night was heard    In ancient days by emperor and clown:  Perhaps the self-same song that found a path     Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,      She stood in tears amid the alien corn;            The same that ofttimes hath    Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam      Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”

John Keats

john keats - “Thou wast not born for death, immortal...” 1

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“The same that oft-times hath charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.”

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