Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/330

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Than the Emperor when he play'd on his Man-Tiger-Organ.


 * Of glossy silk, soft, smooth, and meadow-green,
 * Where the close eye in deep rich fur might trace
 * A silver tissue, scantly to be seen,
 * As daisies lurk'd in June-grass, buds in green;
 * Sudden the music ceased, sudden the hand
 * Of majesty, by dint ot passion keen,
 * Doubled into a common fist, went grand,

And knock'd down three cut glasses, and his best ink-stand.


 * "Eban," said he, "as slaves should taste the fruits
 * Of diligence, I shall remember you
 * To-morrow, or next day, as time suits,
 * In a finger conversation with my mutes,—
 * Begone!—for you, Chaldean! here remain;
 * Fear not, quake not, and as good wine recruits
 * A conjurer's spirits, what cup will you drain?

Sherry in silver, hock in gold, or glass'd champagne?"

answer'd Hum,
 * "In preference to these, I'll merely taste
 * A thimble-full of old Jamaica rum."