Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/778

 JOHN KEATS

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest^ What little town by river or sea-shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn ? And, little town, thy streets for evermore

Will silent be, and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

Attic shape' fair attitude' with brede

Of maible men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed;

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'

Ode to Psyche

O GODDESS' hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-con ched ear: Surely I dream'd to-day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?

1 wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,

And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,

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