In this installment, Tom Thompson reads "O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind" by John Keats. Thompson is the author of Live Feed and The Pitch, both published by Alice James Books. His poems and reviews have been published in American Letters and Commentary, Boston Review, Colorado Review, The Hat, Volt and other publications. He lives with Miranda Field and their two sons in New York City, where he currently works at an advertising agency.

John Keats, "O thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind"

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops ’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 Phœbus 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.