Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/66



Soon were the white doves plain, with necks stretch'd out, And silken traces lighten'd in descent; And soon, returning from love's banishment, Queen Venus leaning downward open-arm'd: Her shadow fell upon his breast, and charm'd A tumult to his heart, and a new life Into his eyes. Ah, miserable strife, But for her comforting! unhappy sight, But meeting her blue orbs! Who, who can write Of these first minutes? The unchariest muse To embracements warm as theirs makes coy excuse.
 * O it has ruffled every spirit there,

Saving love's self, who stands superb to share The general gladness: awfully he stands; A sovereign quell is in his waving hands; No sight can bear the lightning of his bow; His quiver is mysterious, none can know What themselves think of it; from forth his eyes There darts strange light of varied hues and dyes: A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who Look full upon it feel anon the blue Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls. Endymion feels it, and no more controls The burning prayer within him; so, bent low, He had begun a plaining of his woe. But Venus, bending forward, said: "My child, Favor this gentle youth; his days are wild With love—he—but alas! too well I see Thou know'st the deepness of his misery. Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true,