By John Keats
I
In drear- nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them,
With a sleety whistle through them,
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.
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II
In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.
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III
Ah! would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed nor of passed joy?
The feel of not to feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbed sense to steel it,
Was never said in rhyme.
It refers to old age. I got it form my english Kumon worksheet haha but i love the use of words. Marked A+
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