Nothing happened, even if he died in the end, she just walked in his wilderness, reciting his poems in her mouth. The violins rose in circles like a nightingale, and most of the time there was no background music, and they walked in the snow-like silence. It's the English sky, the flowers and ruffles of the upper classes (Fanny's outfits are somehow unconventional), a paradise too extravagant for him. The poet belongs after all to the dripping lanes, and his gloomy Naples death. But he left the most beautiful spring. The light of spring blows the curtains out of the waves. Lovers play with little one, two or three wooden figures. He has a dream. He floats in the canopy and misses her lips. His poems are too moving, and the whole film is light and beautiful, but I don't know if it's Keats's poems or the movie itself that burns.
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