Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/44



A wonder, fair as any I have told— The same bright face I tasted in my sleep, Smiling in the clear well. My heart did leap Through the cool depth.—It moved as if to flee— I started up, when lo! refreshfully, There came upon my face, in plenteous showers, Dew-drops, and dewy buds, and leaves, and flowers. Wrapping all objects from my smother'd sight, Bathing my spirit in a new delight. Ay, such a breathless honey-feel of bliss Alone preserved me from the drear abyss Of death, for the fair form had gone again. Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us, like the gnawing sloth On the deer's tender haunches: late, and loth, 'Tis scared away by slow returning pleasure. How sickening, how dark the dreadful leisure Of weary days, made deeper exquisite, By a foreknowledge of unslumberous night! Like sorrow came upon me, heavier still, Than when I wander'd from the poppy hill: And a whole age of lingering moments crept Sluggishly by, ere more contentment swept Away at once the deadly yellow spleen. Yes, thrice have I this fair enchantment seen; Once more been tortured with renewed life. When last the wintry gusts gave over strife With the conquering sun of spring, and left the skies Warm and serene, but yet with moisten'd eyes In pity of the shatter'd infant buds, That time thou didst adorn, with amber studs, My hunting cap, because I laugh'd and smiled,