Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp'Ring Here And There Among The Bushes Half Leafless, And Dry; The Stars Look Very Cold About The Sky, And I Have Many Miles On Foot To Fare. Yet Feel I Little Of The Cool Bleak Air, Or Of The Dead Leaves Rustling Drearily, Or Of Those Silver Lamps That Burn On High, Or Of The Distance From Home'S Pleasant Lair: For I Am Brimfull Of The Friendliness That In A Little Cottage I Have Found; Of Fair-Hair'D Milton'S Eloquent Distress, And All His Love For Gentle Lycid Drown'D; Of Lovely Laura In Her Light Green Dress, And Faithful Petrarch Gloriously Crown'D.