Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/210

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 * "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!"
 * 'Tis dark: the ice gusts still rave and beat:
 * "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!
 * Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.—
 * Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
 * I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,
 * Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;—

A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."


 * Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?
 * Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?
 * Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest
 * After so many hours of toil and quest,
 * A famish'd pilgrim,—saved by miracle
 * Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest
 * Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

To trust fair Madeline, to no rude infidel."


 * Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
 * Arise — arise ! the morning is at hand;—
 * The bloated wassailers will never heed;—
 * Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
 * There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see —
 * Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:
 * Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be.

For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."