‘How beautiful the season is now – How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather – Dian skies’
To J. H. Reynolds, 21 September 1819
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‘By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide; – The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; – The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm…’
John Keats
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