Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/264

248

 The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes,
 * And seeing it asleep, so fled away,

Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
 * Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day,

But to that second circle of sad Hell,
 * Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw

Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
 * Their sorrows,—pale were the sweet lips I saw,

Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form I floated with, about that melancholy storm.

1819.

 

