Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/89

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Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: No tumbling water ever spake romance, But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: No woods were green enough, no bower divine, Until thou lifted'st up thine eyelids fine: In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take, Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; And, in the summer-tide of blossoming, No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign. Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end; And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend With all my ardors: thou wast the deep glen; Thou wast the mountain-top—the sage's pen— The poet's harp—the voice of friends—the sun; Thou wast the river—thou wast glory won; Thou wast my clarion's blast—thou wast my steed— My goblet full of wine—my topmost deed:— Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! On some bright essence could I lean, and lull Myself to immortality: I prest Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest. But gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss— My strange love came—Felicity's abyss!