Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/145

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When all great Latmos so exalt will be? Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly; And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more. Sure I will not believe thou hast such store Of grief, to last thee to my kiss again. Thou surely canst not bear a mind of pain, Come hand in hand with one so beautiful. Be happy both of you! for I will pull The flowers of autumn for your coronals. Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls; And when he is restored, thou, fairest dame, Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shame To see ye thus,—not very, very sad? Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad: O feel as if it were a common day; Free-voiced as one who never was away. No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shall Be gods of your own rest imperial. Not even I, for one whole month, will pry Into the hours that have pass'd us by, Since in my arbor I did sing to thee. O Hermes! on this very night will be A hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light; For the soothsayers old saw yesternight Good visions in the air,—whence will befall, As say these sages, health perpetual To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore In Dian's face they read the gentle lore: Therefore for her these vesper-carols are. Our friends will all be there from nigh and far. Many upon thy death have ditties made; And many, even now, their foreheads shade