(In Ode to a Nightingale)

“O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:”