II.

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out;

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wandCome, long-sought!

III.

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

IV.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle at thy side?

Would'st thou me?-and I replied,
No, not thee!

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
I ask of thee, beloved Night,-
Swift be thine approaching. flight,
Come soon, soon!

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)

I.

One word is too often profaned

For me to profane it,

One feeling too falsely disdained

For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair

For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

II.

I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not

The worship the heart lifts above

And the Heavens reject not,—

The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

John keats

1795-1821

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES

(1820)

I.

St. Agnes' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen

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.

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to
freeze,

Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:

Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat❜ries,

He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

III.

Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue

Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung; His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.

IV.

That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide,
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:
The level chambers, ready with their pride,
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:
The carved angels, ever eager-ey'd,

Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.

V.

At length burst in the argent revelry,
With plume, tiara, and all rich array,
Numerous as shadows haunting faerily
The brain, newstuff'd in youth, with triumphs

gay

Of old romance.

These let us wish away,

And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare.

VI.

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' eve,
Young virgins might have visions of delight,
And soft adorings from their loves receive
Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As, supperless to bed they must retire,

And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.

VII.

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: The music, yearning like a God in pain, She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by-she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the

year.

VIII.

She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and

short:

The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort