Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: 'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!' 'Tis dark: the icèd gusts still rave and beat: 'No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.— Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing:A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunèd wing!' 'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed? A famish'd pilgrim,-saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. 'Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.' She hurried at his words, beset with fears, Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.- And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone: aye, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. 535 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 'O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 'I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful-a faery's child, 'I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. 'I set her on my pacing steed 'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true." 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. 'And there she lulléd me asleep, And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. 'I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all, They cried "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" 536 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam On the cold hill's side. 'And this is why I sojourn here Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET THE poetry of earth is never dead; When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 537 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Oft of one wide expanse had I been told Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: -Then felt I like some watcher of the skies He stared at the Pacific-and all his men 538 539 TO SLEEP O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight! O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, Around my bed its lulling charities; Then save me, or the passèd day will shine Save me from curious conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards, And seal the hushèd casket of my soul. THE HUMAN SEASONS FOUR Seasons fill the measure of the year; He has his Summer, when luxuriously Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves |