After Dark Vapours Have Oppressed Our Plains. 
By Keats, John. 


After dark vapours have oppressed our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle South, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious month, relieved from its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May,
The eyelids with the passing coolness play,
Like rose-leaves with the drip of summer rains.
And calmest thoughts come round us -as of leaves
Budding -fruit ripening in stillness -autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves, - 
Sweet Sappho's cheek, -a sleeping infant's breath, - 
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs, - 
A woodland rivulet, -a Poet's death.