JOHN KEATS
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight,
With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Linger a while upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlet’s [rushy banks],
And watch intently Nature’s gentle doings;
They will be found softer than [ringdove’s cooings].
How silent comes the water round that bend!