Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/267

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 Had touched her plaintive lute, and thou, being by, Hadst caught the tones, nor suffered them to die. O'ershading sorrow doth not make thee less Delightful: thou thy griefs dost dress With a bright halo, shining beamily, As when a cloud the golden moon doth veil, Its sides are tinged with a resplendent glow, Through the dark robe oft amber rays prevail, And like fair veins in sable marble flow; Still warble, dying swan! still tell the tale, The enchanting tale, the tale of pleasing woe.

 

