Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/193

Rh

She drench'd away: and still she comb'd'and kept Sighing all day—and still she kiss'd and wept. Then in a silken scarf,—sweet with the dews
 * Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby,

And divine liquids come with odorous ooze
 * Through the cold serpent-pipe refreshfully,—

She wrapp'd it up; and for its tomb did choose
 * A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,

And cover'd it with mould, and o'er it set Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet. And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
 * And she forgot the blue above the trees,

And she forgot the dells where waters run,
 * And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;

She had no knowledge when the day was done,
 * And the new morn she saw not: but in peace

Hung over her sweet Basil ever more. And moisten'd it with tears unto the core. And so she ever fed it with thin tears,
 * Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew,

So that it smelt more balmy than its peers
 * Of Basil tufts in Florence; for it drew

Nurture besides, and life, from human fears,
 * From the fast mouldering bead there shut from view;

So that the jewel, safely casketed, Came forth, and in perfumed leaflets spread