XVI. ON A DREAM. * 1819. As Hermes once took to his feathers light, When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept, So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright, So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies, Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw XVII. 1819. IF by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd, And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness; To fit the naked foot of Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress Misers of sound and syllable, no less Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown; So, if we may not let the Muse be free, She will be bound with garlands of her own. XVIII. 1819. THE day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape, and lang'rous waist! Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, When the dusk holiday-or holinight Of fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave XIX. 1819. I CRY your mercy-pity-love!-aye, love! One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast, Yourself your soul-in pity give me all, Withhold no atom's atom or I die, Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall, Life's purposes, the palate of my mind I,72. XX. KEATS'S LAST SONNET. BRIGHT star! would I were steadfast as thou art— Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, * Another reading : Half-passionless, and so swoon on to death. BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. |