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O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede She dwells with Beauty-Beauty that Of marble men and maidens over
must die; wrought,
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his With forest branches and the trodden
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of nigh, thought
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
sips: When old age shall this generation Ay, in the very temple of Delight 25 waste,
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran Thou shalt remain, in midst of other
Though seen of none save him whose Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou
strenuous tongue say'st,
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that fine: is all
His soul shall taste the sadness of her Ye know on earth, and all ye need to might, know.
50 And be among her cloudy trophies hung
ODE ON MELANCHOLY
TO AUTUMN No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poison- Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, ous wine;
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed Conspiring with him how to load and bless By nightshade, ruby grape of Proser- With fruit the vines that round the pine;
thatch-eaves run; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 5 To bend with apples the mossed cottageNor let the beetle, nor the death-moth
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the Your mournful Psyche, nor the
core; downy owl
To swell the gourd, and plump the A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
hazel shells For shade to shade will come too With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, drowsily,
And still more, later flowers for the And drown the wakeful anguish of the
Until they think warm days will never
cease, But when the melancholy fit shall fall
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their Sudden from heavenlike a weeping clammy cells.
cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy And hides the green hills in an April
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, 15
find Or on the rainbow of the salt-sand wave, Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Or on the wealth of globèd peonies; Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
15 Emprison her soft hand, and let her Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, rave,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while And feed deep, deep upon her peer
Spares the next swath and all its 1 embroidery.
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Northward he tureth through a little Fallen beneath the dockyard strokes, , door, Have rotted on the briny seas; 45 And scarce three steps, ere Music's She would weep that her wild bees
golden tongue Sang not to her—strange! that honey Flattered to tears this aged man and Can't be got without hard money!
But no-already had his deathbell So it is: yet let us sing,
rung; Honor to the old bow-string!
The joys of all his life were said and Honor to the bugle-horn! Honor to the woods unshorn!
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Honor to the Lincoln green!
Eve: Honor to the archer keen!
Another way he went, and soon among 25 Honor to tight Little John,
55 And the horse he rode upon!
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's re
prieve, Honor to bold Robin Hood,
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake Sleeping in the underwood!
to grieve. Honor to Maid Marian, And to all the Sherwood-clan!
That ancient Beadsman heard the preThough their days have hurried by,
lude soft; Let us two a burden try.
And so it chanced, for many a door was
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, THE EVE OF ST. AGNES
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to
chide: St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The level chambers, ready with their The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
pride, The hare limped trembling through the
Were glowing to receive a thousand frozen grass,
guests: And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
The carvèd angels, ever eager-eyed, Numb were the Beadsman's fingers,
Stared, where upon their heads the while he told
5 cornice rests, His rosary, and while his frosted breath, with hair blown back, and wings put
35 Like pious incense from a censer old,
crosswise on their breasts. Seemed taking flight for heaven, without a death,
At length burst in the argent revelr Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his
With plume, tiara, and all rich array,
Numerous as shadows haunting fairily His prayer he saith, this patient, holy The brain, new stuffed, in youth, with man;
40 Then takes his lamp, and riseth from Of old romance. These let us wish his knees,
away, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady wan,
there, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: Whose heart had brooded, all that winThe sculptured dead, on each side, seem try day, to freeze,
On love, and winged St. Agnes' saintly Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails: care, Knights, ladies, praying in dumb or- As she had heard old dames full many at'ries, 16 times declare.
45 He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, and mails.
Young virgins might have visions of 1 chorus.
prayer he saith.
So, purposing each moment to retire, She lingered still. Meantime, across the
moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart
More tame for his gray hairs—Alas me!
Ait! Flit like a ghost away.”_"Ah, Gossip dear,
105 We're safe enough; here in this arm
75 For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
Feebly she laugheth in the languid
moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth
look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth closed a wond'rous riddlebook,
130 As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when
she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could
brook1 Tears, at the thought of those enchant
ments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
135 1 check.
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble
soul? A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,
155 Whose passing-bell miay ere the mid
night toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn
and evening, Were never missed.”—Thus plaining,
doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Por
phyro; So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do
161 Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there
hide Him in a closet, of such privacy 165 That he might see her beauty unespied,