Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/130



High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew Exhaled to Phœbus' lips, away they are gone, Far from the earth away—unseen, alone, Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free The buoyant life of song can floating be Above their heads, and follow them untired. Muse of my native land! am I inspired? This is the giddy air, and I must spread Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance Precipitous: I have beneath my glance Those towering horses and their mournful freight Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid? There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade From some approaching wonder, and behold Those winged steeds, with snorting nostrils bold Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire, Dying to embers from their native fire!


 * There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon,

It seem'd as when around the pale new moon Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow: 'Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow, For the first time, since he came nigh dead-born From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn Had he left more forlorn; for the first time, He felt aloof the day and morning's prime— Because into his depth Cimmerian There came a dream, showing how a young man, Ere a lean bat could plump its wintry skin, Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win