Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/295

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 Both together:—let me slake All my thirst and sweet heart-ache! Let my bower be of yew, Interwreath'd with myrtles new Pines and lime-trees full in bloom, And my couch a low grass-tomb.

 TO ———

can I do to drive away

Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen

Ay, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!

Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,

What can I do to kill it and be free

In my own liberty?

When every fair one that I saw was fair,

Enough to catch me in but half a snare,

Not keep me there:

When, howe'er poor or particolor'd things,

My muse had wings,

And ever ready was to take her course

Whither I bent her force,

Unintellectual, yet divine to me;—

Divine, I say!—What sea-bird o'er the sea

Is a philosopher the while he goes

Winging along where the great water throes?

How shall I do

To get anew

Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more

Above, above

The reach of fluttering Love,