"It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame:

"All cates and dainties shall be stored there

Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame

Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, 175

For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare

On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer

The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,

Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."

180

And diamonded with panes of quaint device,

Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings;

And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,

And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,

215 A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings.

Paynims pray;

Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,

As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,

Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced

246 To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,

And breathed himself: then from the closet crept,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 250 And over the hushed carpet, silent, stepped,

And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!-how fast she slept.

Then by the bedside, where the faded

moon

Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set

1 black.

"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!

Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:

Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,

Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."

where to go."

315

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,

Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,

Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone,

there,

his place;

She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height: she would
have ta'en

Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stayed Ixion's wheel. 30
Her face was large as that of Memphian
sphinx,

Pedestaled haply in a palace court,
When sages looked to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face;
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made 35
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen