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Poem by John Keats * * * Hither hither, love— ‘Tis a shady mead— Hither, hither, love! Let us feed and feed! Hither, hither, sweet— ‘Tis a cowslip bed— Hither, hither, sweet! ‘Tis with dew bespread! Hither, hither, dear By the breath of life, Hither, hither, dear!— Be the summer’s wife! Though one moment’s pleasure In one moment flies— Though the passion’s treasure In one moment dies;— Yet it has not passed— Think how near, how near!— And while it doth last, Think how dear, how dear! Hither, hither, hither Love its boon has sent— If I die and wither I shall die content! John Keats John Keats's other poems:
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