Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/55



Too keen in beauty, for thy silver prow Not to have dipp'd in love's most gentle stream, O be propitious, nor severely, deem My madness impious; for, by all the stars That tend thy bidding, I do think the bars That kept my spirit in are burst—that I Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art! The world how deep! How tremulous-dazzlingly the wheels sweep Around their axle! Then these gleaming reins, How lithe! When this thy chariot attains Its airy goal, haply some bower veils Those twilight eyes? Those eyes!—my spirit fails; Dear goddess, help! or the wide gaping air Will gulf me—help!"—At this, with madden'd stare. And lifted hands, and trembling lips, he stood; Like old Deucalion mountain'd o'er the flood. Or blind Orion hungry for the morn. And, but from the deep cavern there was borne A voice, he had been froze to senseless stone; Nor sigh of his, nor plaint, nor passion'd moan Had more been heard. Thus swell'd it forth: "Descend, Young mountaineer! descend where alleys bend Into the sparry hollows of the world! Oft hast thou seen bolts of the thunder hurl'd As from thy threshold; day by day hast been A little lower than the chilly sheen Of icy pinnacles, and dipp'dst thine arms Into the deadening ether that still charms Their marble being: now, as deep profound As those are high, descend! He ne'er is crown'd