Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/73

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The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs And stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swell Of sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!" Said he, "will all this gush of feeling pass Away in solitude? And must they wane, Like melodies upon a sandy plain, Without an echo? Then shall I be left So sad, so melancholy, so bereft! Yet still I feel immortal! O my love, My breath of life, where art thou? High above, Dancing before the morning gates of heaven? Or keeping watch among those starry seven, Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters, One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters? Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's, Weaving a coronal of tender scions For very idleness? Where'er thou art, Methinks it now is at my will to start Into thine arms; to scare Aurora's train, And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doff Thy shepherd vest, and woo thee 'mid fresh leaves. No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives Its powerless self: I know this cannot be. O let me then by some sweet dreaming flee To her entrancements: hither sleep awhile! Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foil For some few hours the coming solitude."


 * Thus spake he, and that moment felt endued