Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/208

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 * Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—
 * "And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!
 * Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:
 * Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,

Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."


 * Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream
 * By the dusk curtains:—'twas a midnight charm
 * Impossible to melt as iced stream:
 * The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;
 * Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:
 * It seem'd he never, never could redeem
 * From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes;

So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.


 * Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be,
 * He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
 * In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy:"
 * Close to her ear touching the melody;—
 * Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:
 * He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly
 * Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:

Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.


 * Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: