475 And man, and woman; and what still is dear near; 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join together. LIV. That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, 480 That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse 485 490 LV. The breath whose might I have invoked in Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Whose sails were never to the tempest given; Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of The soul of Adonais, like a star, 495 Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. TIME (1821) Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow 5 Claspest the limits of mortality, 10 And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea? ΤΟ (1821) Music, when soft voices die, Odours, when sweet violets sicken; 5 Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, TO NIGHT (1821) I. Swiftly walk over the western wave, Out of the misty eastern cave, 5 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, II. Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, 10 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wandCome, long-sought! III. 15 When I arose and saw the dawn, When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 20 Lingering like an unloved guest, IV. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 30 35 Would'st thou me?-and I replied, V. Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon; Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon 5 10 A LAMENT (1821) I. O world! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime? No more-oh, never more! II. Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more-oh, never more! ΤΟ (1821) One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, 5 One hope is too like despair And pity from thee more dear 10 II. I can give not what men call love, The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not,— 5 The desire of the moth for the star, 15 The devotion to something afar John keats THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. (1820) St. Agnes' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was! grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. II. 10 15 His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, |