On Visiting The Tomb Of Burns

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The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,
Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream
I dreamed long ago, now new begun.
The short-liv’d, paly summer is but won
From winter’s ague for one hour’s gleam;
Through sapphire warm their stars do never beam:
All is cold Beauty; pain is never done.
For who has mind to relish, Minos-wise,
The real of Beauty, free from that dead hue
Sickly imagination and sick pride
Cast wan upon it? Burns! with honour due
I oft have honour’d thee. Great shadow, hide
Thy face; I sin against thy native skies.

 

– John Keats

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

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One thought on “On Visiting The Tomb Of Burns

    Harv said:
    February 27, 2017 at 21:07

    Love coffee. I’ve been blogging… https://manupmanship.com/2017/02/27/sb/

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