Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/183

Rh Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys

All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake:

'When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!

When move in a sweet body fit for life,

And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife

Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!'

The God, dove-footed, glided silently

Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,

The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,

Until he found a palpitating snake,

Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,

Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;

Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,

Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;

And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,

Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed

Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries—

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,

She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,

Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire

Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:

Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!

She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:

And for her eyes—what could such eyes do there

But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.

Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake

Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,

And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,

Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey:

'Fair Hermes! crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,

I had a splendid dream of thee last night:

I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,

Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,

The only sad one; for thou didst not hear

The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chanting clear,

Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,

Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan.

I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,

Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,

And, swiftly as a bright Phœbean dart,

Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!

Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?'

Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd

His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired:

'Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high-inspired!

Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,

Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,

Telling me only where my nymph is fled,—

Where she doth breathe!' 'Bright planet, thou hast said,'

Return'd the snake, 'but seal with oaths, fair God!'

'I swear,' said Hermes, 'by my serpent rod,

And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!'

Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.

Then thus again the brilliance feminine:

'Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine,

Free as the air, invisibly, she strays

About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days

She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet

Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;