Ode to a Nightingale-John Keats

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I have been in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

With thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstacy

About the author


Homeless man in Burlington, Vermont working as a visiting nurse.

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