Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,  Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,Sylvan historian, who canst thus express  A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:What leaf-fring’d legend haunt about thy shape  Of deities or mortals, or of both,    In Tempe or the dales of Arcady*?  What men or gods are these? What maidens… Leer más Oda a una urna griega: John Keats