Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/269



have their dreams, wherewith they weave

A paradise for a sect; the savage, too,

From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep

Guesses at heaven; pity these have not

Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf

The shadows of melodious utterance,

But bare of laurel they live, dream, and die;

For Poesy alone can tell her dreams,—

With the fine spell of words alone can save

Imagination from the sable chain

And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say,

'Thou art no Poet—may'st not tell thy dreams'?

Since every man whose soul is not a clod

Hath visions and would speak, if he had loved,

And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.

Whether the dream now purpos'd to rehearse

Be poet's or fanatic's will be known

When this warm scribe, my hand, is in the grave.

Methought I stood where trees of every clime,

Palm, myrtle, oak, and sycamore, and beech,

With plantane and spice-blossoms, made a screen,

In neighbourhood of fountains (by the noise

Soft-showering in mine ears), and (by the touch

Of scent) not far from roses. Twining round

I saw an arbour with a drooping roof

Of trellis vines, and bells, and larger blooms,

Like floral censers, swinging light in air;

Before its wreathed doorway, on a mound

Of moss, was spread a feast of summer fruits,

Which, nearer seen, seem'd refuse of a meal

By angel tasted or our Mother Eve;

For empty shells were scatter'd on the grass,

And grapestalks but half-bare, and remnants more

Sweet-smelling, whose pure kinds I could not know.

Still was more plenty than the fabled horn

Thrice emptied could pour forth at banqueting,

For Proserpine return'd to her own fields,

Where the white heifers low. And appetite,

More yearning than on earth I ever felt,

Growing within, I ate deliciously,—

And, after not long, thirsted; for thereby

Stood a cool vessel of transparent juice

Sipp'd by the wander'd bee, the which I took,

And pledging all the mortals of the world,

And all the dead whose names are in our lips,

Drank. That full draught is parent of my theme.