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letter: but you know a favourite tune is hardest to be remembered when one wants it most and you, I know, have long ere this taken it for granted that I never have any speculations without associating you in them, where they are of a pleasant nature, and you know enough of me to tell the places where I haunt most, so that if you think for five minutes after having read this, you will find it a long letter, and see written in the Air before you,

Your most affectionate friend

John Keats.

Remember me to all. Tom's remembrances to you.

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In sooth, I hope you are not too sanguine about that seal'-in sooth I hope it is not Brumidgeum-in double sooth I hope it is his-and in triple sooth I hope I shall have an impression. Such a piece of intelligence came doubly welcome to me while in your own County and in your own hand—not but I have blown up the said County for its urinal qualifications-the six first days I was here it did nothing but rain ; and at that time having to write to a friend I gave Devonshire a good blowing

1 A seal found in a field at Stratford-upon-Avon, and thought by Haydon to have belonged to Shakespeare.

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up-it has been fine for almost three days, and I was coming round a bit; but to day it rains again—with me the County is yet upon its good behaviour. I have enjoyed the most delightful Walks these three fine days beautiful enough to make me content here all the summer could I stay

For there's Bishop's teign

And King's teign

And Coomb at the clear teign head—
Where close by the stream

You may have your cream

All spread upon barley bread.

There's arch Brook

And there's larch Brook
Both turning many a mill;
And cooling the drouth
Of the salmon's mouth,
And fattening his silver gill.

There is Wild wood,

A Mild hood

To the sheep on the lea o' the down,
Where the golden furze,

With its green, thin spurs,
Doth catch at the maiden's gown.

There is Newton marsh

With its spear grass harsh—

A pleasant summer level

Where the maidens sweet

Of the Market Street,

Do meet in the dusk to revel.

There's the Barton rich
With dyke and ditch

And hedge for the thrush to live in
And the hollow tree

For the buzzing bee

And a bank for the wasp to hive in.

And O, and O

The daisies blow

And the primroses are waken'd,

And the violets white

Sit in silver plight,

And the green bud's as long as the spike end.

Then who would go

Into dark Soho,

And chatter with dack'd hair'd critics,

When he can stay

For the new-mown hay,

And startle the dappled Prickets?

Here's some dogrel for you-Perhaps you would like a bit of Bhrell :

Where be ye going, you Devon Maid?

And what have ye there in the Basket?
Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

I love your Meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly.

I love your hills, and I love your dales,
And I love your flocks a-bleating-
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!

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