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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless…

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep…

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart,…