St. Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold. (John Keats)

St. Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold.

John Keats

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bitter eve flock grass hare owl silent trembling

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