The Seed

I dont know just how the patch is doing any more.  I no longer go there.  That is what happens when something beautiful is ruined.  It looses the newness, the freshness, the initial appeal of its not being spoilt. Keats comes to mind:-


Ever let the fancy roam
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain peltech;
Then let winged Fancy wander
..........


O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spolt by use;
Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz'd at?  Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
.....

Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch, sweet pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth
Let, then, winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind;
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter,
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
........
Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.