To My Brothers by John Keats

"CANTO I.     Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave     A paradise for a sect; the savage, too,     From forth the loftiest fashion of h"

"Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there     Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;     The stars look very cold about the sky,     A"

"Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,     And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep     Like whispers of the household g"

"Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs     Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell     Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well"

"‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad At the falling of the year, When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad, When the boughs are yellow and sere?"

"I Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When -- with sweet flowers of our New England May Hiding the lichened stones"