At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV. 66 66 Ah, Porphyro!" said she, but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, 395 And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: 310 How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." 315 XXXVI. Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose: Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 320 XXXVII. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" 'Tis dark the icéd gusts still rave and beat: 325 66 No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunéd wing." 330 XXXVIII. 66 My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 335 Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 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." XXXIX. "Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, 340 345 350 For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." XL. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, 355 360 XLI. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; With a huge empty flagon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, 365 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. XLII. And they are gone: aye, ages long ago That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form 370 375 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 5 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, Of beechen green, and shadows numberless O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvéd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth! 10 O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret 15 20 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, And mid-May's eldest child, 45 The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 50 Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 55 60 65 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 70 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: do I wake or sleep? 80 |