“No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;” This excerpt comes fro
A.To Autumn
B.Ode to the West Wind
C.Ode to a Nightingale
D.Ode on Melancholy