Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/42

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Just so may love, although 'tis understood The mere commingling of passionate breath, Produce more than our searching witnesseth: What I know not: but who, of men, can tell That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail, The earth its dower of river, wood and vale, The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones, The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones, Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet, If human souls did never kiss and greet?


 * "Now, if this earthly love has power to make

Men's being mortal, immortal; to shake Ambition from their memories, and brim Their measure of content; what merest whim, Seems all this poor endeavor after fame. To one, who keeps within his steadfast aim A love immortal, an immortal too. Look not so wilder'd; for these things are true, And never can be born of atomies That buzz about our slumbers, like brain flies, Leaving us fancy-sick. No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream. My sayings will the less obscure seem When I have told thee how my waking sight Has made me scruple whether that same night Was pass'd in dreaming. Harken, sweet Peona!