What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds - Poem by John Keats

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist 
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, 
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time. 
O thou, whose only book has been the light 

Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on 
Night after night when Phoebus was away, 
To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn. 
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, 
And yet my song comes native with the warmth. 
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none, 
And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens 
At thought of idleness cannot be idle, 
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.