So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been : Cophetua sware a royal oath : "This beggar maid shall be my queen !" THE VISION OF SIN. I HAD a vision when the night was late: A youth came riding toward a palace-gate. A sleepy light upon their brows and lips As when the sun, a crescent of eclipse, Dreams over lake and lawn, and isles and capes Suffused them, sitting, lying, languid shapes, By heaps of gourds, and skins of wine, and piles of grapes. Then methought I heard a mellow sound, Gathering up from all the lower ground; Narrowing in to where they sat assembled Swung themselves, and in low tones replied; Till thronging in and in, to where they waited, As 'twere a hundred-throated nightingale, The strong tempestuous treble throbb'd and palpitated; Ran into its giddiest whirl of sound, Caught the sparkles, and in circles, Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid mazes, Flung the torrent rainbow round: Then they started from their places, Moved with violence, changed in hue, Caught each other with wild grimaces, Half-invisible to the view, Wheeling with precipitate paces To the melody, till they flew, Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces, Twisted hard in fierce embraces, Like to Furies, like to Graces, Dash'd together in blinding dew: Till, kill'd with some luxurious agony, Flutter'd headlong from the sky. And then I look'd up toward a mountain-tract, Beyond the darkness and the cataract, God made Himself an awful rose of dawn, And link'd again. I saw within my head A gray and gap-tooth'd man as lean as death, Who slowly rode across a wither'd heath, And lighted at a ruin'd inn, and said: "Wrinkled ostler, grim and thin! Here is custom come your way; Take my brute, and lead him in, Stuff his ribs with mouldy hay. "Bitter barmaid, waning fast! See that sheets are on my bed; What! the flower of life is past : "Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At The Dragon on the heath! Let us have a quiet hour, Let us hob-and-nob with Death. |