Tag Archive: This mortal body of a thousand days

This mortal body of a thousand days

Other Sonnets of John Keats→ This mortal body of a thousand days Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room, Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays, Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom! My pulse is warm with thine old barley-bree, My head is light with pledging a great soul, …

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