Page:Keats, poems published in 1820 (Robertson, 1909).djvu/108

80 Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless things, Asking for her lost Basil amorously; And with melodious chuckle in the strings Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry After the Pilgrim in his wanderings, To ask him where her Basil was; and why 'Twas hid from her: "For cruel 'tis," said she, "To steal my Basil-pot away from me."

And so she pined, and so she died forlorn, Imploring for her Basil to the last. No heart was there in Florence but did mourn In pity of her love, so overcast. And a sad ditty of this story born From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd: Still is the burthen sung—"O cruelty, To steal my Basil-pot away from me!"