for while I sang,
And with poor skill let pass into the breeze
The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand
Just opposite, an island of the sea,
There came with the shifting wind,
That did both drown and keep alive my ears.
And with poor skill let pass into the breeze
The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand
Just opposite, an island of the sea,
There came with the shifting wind,
That did both drown and keep alive my ears.
Keats
