Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/203

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Go, go! I deem Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.


 * Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace
 * When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer.
 * If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
 * Or look with ruffian passion in her face:
 * Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
 * Or I will, even in a moment's space,
 * Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears,

And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears."


 * A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,
 * Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;
 * Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
 * Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bring
 * A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
 * So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing,
 * That Angela gives promise she will do

Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.


 * Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide
 * Him in a closet, of such privacy
 * That he might see her beauty unespied,
 * And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,