Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/776

 JOHN KEATS

Darkling I listen ; and for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy'

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird'

No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown. Perhaps the self -same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ,

The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn ' the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu' the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu' adieu' thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-bide, and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades Was it a vision, or a waking dream ?

Fled is that music do I wake or sleep ?

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