What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds

"O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind, Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in Mist, And the black Elmtops 'mong the freezing stars: To thee the Spring will be a harvest-time— O thou, whose only book has been the light Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on Night after night, when Phoebus was away, To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn— O fret not after knowledge—I have none, And yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge—I have none, And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens At thought of idleness cannot be idle, And he's awake who thinks himself asleep."