1816
                    HOW MANY BARDS GILD THE LAPSES OF TIME!
                                 by John Keats

        How many bards gild the lapses of time!
          A few of them have ever been the food
          Of my delighted fancy,- I could brood
        Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
        And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
          These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
          But no confusion, no disturbance rude
        Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
        So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;
        The songs of birds- the whisp'ring of the leaves-
          The voice of waters- the great bell that heaves
        With solemn sound,- and thousand others more,
          That distance of recognizance bereaves,
        Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

                        THE END
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