X.

        TO one who has been long in city pent,
          'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
          And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer
        Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
        Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,
          Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
          Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
        And gentle tale of love and languishment?
        Returning home at evening, with an ear
          Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye                     10
        Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
          He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
        E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
          That falls through the clear ether silently.

Keats, John. 1884. Poetical Works.