Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/174

138 Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears,

And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries,—

To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears

A smile of such delight,

As brilliant and as bright,

As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes,

Lost in soft amaze,

I gaze, I gaze!

Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?

What stare outfaces now my silver moon!

Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least;

Let, let the amorous burn—

But, pr'ythee, do not turn

The current of your heart from me so soon.

O! save, in charity,

The quickest pulse for me.

Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe

Voluptuous visions into the warm air,

Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath;

Be like an April day,

Smiling and cold and gay,

A temperate lily, temperate as fair;

Then, Heaven! there will be

A warmer June for me.

Why, this—you 'll say, my Fanny! is not true:

Put your soft hand upon your snowy side,

Where the heart beats: confess—'t is nothing new—

Must not a woman be

A feather on the sea,

Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?

Of as uncertain speed

As blow-ball from the mead?

I know it—and to know it is despair

To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny!

Whose heart goes fluttering for you everywhere,

Nor, when away you roam,

Dare keep its wretched home:

Love, love alone, has pains severe and many:

Then, loveliest! keep me free

From torturing jealousy.

Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above

The poor, the fading, brief pride of an hour;

Let none profane my Holy See of love,

Or with a rude hand break

The sacramental cake:

Let none else touch the just new-budded flower;

If not—may my eyes close,

Love! on their last repose.

Hermes once took to his feathers light,

When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept

So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright