Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/243

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Why should I strive to show what from thy lips Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark, And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes; I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; And then upon the grass I sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.—O why should I Feel cursed and thwarted, when the liegeless air Yields to my step aspirant? why should I Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? Goddess benign! point forth some unknown thing: Are there not other regions than this isle? What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun And the mast patient brilliance of the moon! And stars by thousands! Point me out the way To any one particular beauteous star, And I will flit into it with my lyre, And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss. I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power? Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity Makes this alarm in the elements, While I here idle listen on the shores In fearless yet in aching ignorance? O tell me, lonely Goddess! by thy harp, That waileth every morn and eventide, Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves! Mute thou remainest—Mute? yet I can read A wondrous lesson in thy silent face: Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once