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nims pray;


closet crept,


And diamonded with panes of quaint Flown, like a thought, until the mordevice,

row-day; Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, Blissfully haven'd both from joy and As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd pain; wings;

Clasp'd like a missal where swart PayAnd in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,

Blinded alike from sunshine and from And twilight saints, and dim emblazon

rain, ings,

As though a rose should shut, and be a A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood bud again. of queens and kings.

Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Full on this casement shone the wintry Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, moon,

And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced And threw warm gules on Madeline's To wake into a slumberous tenderness; fair breast,

Which when he heard, that minute did As down she knelt for heaven's grace

he bless, and boon;

And breath'd himself: then from the Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stepped, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, lo! — how fast she slept. Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint:

Then by the bed-side, where the faded She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.

Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set

A table, and, half-anguish'd, threw thereon Anon his heart revives: her vespers A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and done,

jet: Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she O for some drowsy Morphean amulet ! frees;

The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; The kettle-drum, and far-heard clariLoosens her fragrant boddice; by de

onet, grees

Affray his ears, though but in dying Her rich attire creeps rustling to her

tone: knees;

The hall door shuts again, and all the Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

In blanched linen, smooth, and lavenBut dares not look behind, or all the

der'd, charm is fled.

While he from forth the closet brought

a heap Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and nest,

gourd ; In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she With jellies soother than the creamy curd, lay.

And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon; Until the poppied warmth of sleep op- Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd press'd

From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued From silken Samarqand to cedar'd Leaway;


noise is gone.


These delicates he heap'd with glowing

At which fair Madeline began to weep, hand

And moan forth witless words with On golden dishes and in baskets bright many a sigh; Of wreathed silver : sumptuous they While still her gaze on Porphyro would stand

keep; In the retired quiet of the night,

Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous Filling the chilly room with perfume

eye, light. —

Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so “And now, my love, my seraph fair, dreamingly.

awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine ere- “Ah, Porphyro!” said she, “but even

mite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine sake,

ear, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; soul doth ache.”

And those sad eyes were spiritual and

clear: Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her

and drear ! dream

Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, By the dusk curtains : - 'twas a mid- Those looks immortal, those complainnight charm

ings dear! Impossible to melt as iced stream:

Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, The lustrous salvers in the moonlight For if thou diest, my Love, I know not gleam :

where to go.” Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; At these voluptuous accents, he arose, So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star phantasies.

Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep

repose; Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Into her dream he melted, as the rose Tumultuous, - and, in chords that ten- Blendeth its odour with the violet, derest be,

Solution sweet: meantime the frost wind He play'd an ancient ditty, long since

blows mute,

Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp In Provence call’d, “La belle dame sans

sleet merci :"

Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' Close to her ear touching the melody;

moon hath set. Wherewith disturb’d, she utter'd a soft moan :

'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flawHe ceased — she panted quick - and

blown sleet: suddenly

“This is no dream, my bride, my MadeHer blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:

line!” Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth- 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and sculptured stone.


“No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Porphyro will leave me here to fade and Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: pine. There was a painful change, that nigh Cruel! what traitor could thee hither expellid

bring? The blisses of her dream so pure and deep I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,



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Though thou forsakest deceived They glide, like phantoms, into the wide

thing; A dove forlorn and lost with sick un- Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they pruned wing


Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, “My Madeline ! sweet dreamer! lovely With a huge empty flagon by his side: bride!

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?

his hide, Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: vermeil dyed ?

By one, and one, the bolts full easy Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my

slide : rest

The chains lie silent on the footworn After so many hours of toil and quest,

stones; A famish'd pilgrim, - saved by miracle. The key turns, and the door upon its Though I have found, I will not rob thy hinges groans.

nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago well

These lovers fled away into the storm. To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude in- That night the Baron dreamt of many fidel.

a woe,

And all his warrior-guests, with shade “Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery

and form land,

Of witch, and demon, and large coffinOf haggard seeming, but a boon indeed :

worm, Arise - arise! the morning is at hand; Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the The bloated wassaillers will never heed :

old Let us away, my love, with happy Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre face · speed;

deform; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy For aye unsought for slept among his mead :

ashes cold. Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.”

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN She hurried at his words, beset with Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, fears,

Thou foster-child of silence and slow For there were sleeping dragons all

time, around,

Sylvan historian, who canst thus exAt glaring watch, perhaps, with ready

press spears

A flowery tale more sweetly than our Down the wide stairs a darkling way

rhyme : they found.

What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about In all the house was heard no human

thy shape sound.

Of deities or mortals, or of both, A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? each door;

What men

or gods are these? What The arras, rich with horseman, hawk,

maidens loth? and hound,

What mad pursuit? What struggle to Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar;

escape? And the long carpets rose along the What pipes and timbrels? What

wild ecstasy?

gusty floor.


Heard melodies are sweet, but those un

heard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes,

play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more en

dear’d, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou

canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be

bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou

kiss Though winning near the goal — yet, do

not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not

thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be


O Attic shape! Fair attitude ! with

brede Of marble and maidens over

wrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of

thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other


Than ours, a friend to man, to whom

thou say'st, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—

that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need

to know.


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Who are these coming to the sacrifice? O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been To what green altar, O mysterious Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved priest,

earth, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the Tasting of Flora and the country green, skies,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunAnd all her silken flanks with garlands

burnt mirth! dressed?

O for a beaker full of the warm South, What little town by river or sea shore, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, With beaded bubbles 'winking at the Is emptied of this folk, this pious

brim, morn?

And purple-stained mouth; And, little town, thy streets for evermore That I might drink, and leave the Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

world unseen, Why thou art desolate, can e'er re- And with thee fade away into the turn,

forest dim :


Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget Darkling I listen; and, for many a time What thou among the leaves hast I have been half in love with easeful never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret Call’d him soft names in many a mused
Here, where men sit and hear each


To take into the air my quiet breath; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray Now more than ever seems it rich to hairs.

die, Where youth grows pale, and spectre- To cease upon the midnight with no thin, and dies;

pain, Where but to think is to be full of While thou art pouring forth thy

soul abroad And leaden-eyed despairs,

In such an ecstasy! Where Beauty cannot keep her lus- Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears trous eyes,

in vain Or new Love pine at them beyond To thy high requiem become a sod. to-morrow.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Bird ! Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

thee But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

No hungry generations tread

down; Though the dull brain perplexes and

The voice I hear this passing night was retards :

heard Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her

In ancient days by emperor and clown :

Perhaps the self-same song that found a throne,

path Cluster'd around by all her starry

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, Fays;

sick for home, But here there is no light,

She stood in tears amid the alien Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown


The same that oft-times hath Through verdurous glooms and wind

Charm'd magic casements, opening on ing mossy ways.

the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forI cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

lorn. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the

boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each Forlorn! the very word is like a bell sweet

To toll me back from thee to my sole Wherewith the seasonable month en

self! dows

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well The grass, the thicket, and the fruit- As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. tree wild;

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem White hawthorn, and the pastoral

fades eglantine;

Past the near meadows, over the still Fast fading violets cover'd up in

stream, leaves ;

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried And mid-May's eldest child,

deep The coming musk-rose, full of dewy

In the next valley-glades: wine,

Was it a vision, or a waking dream? The murmurous haunt of flies on Fled is that music: Do I wake or summer eves.


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