Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/206

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 * And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
 * She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
 * Save wings, for heaven:—Porphyro grew faint:

She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint


 * Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
 * Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
 * Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
 * Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:
 * Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed.
 * Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
 * In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.


 * In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,
 * Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd
 * Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
 * Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;
 * Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;
 * Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
 * Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,

As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.


 * Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
 * And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced
 * To wake into a slumberous tenderness;