How Love doth know no fullness nor no bounds.

IT

Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,

That scarcely will the very smallest shell

Be mov'd for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vex'd and tir'd,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;

Oh ye! whose ears are dinn'd with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,

Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quir'd!

In the Aldine edition it was corrected by the substitution of nor for and. From the manuscript it would not appear that Keats was responsible for misquoting Shakespeare.

*First given among the Literary Remains in Volume II of the Life, Letters &c. (1848), and dated August 1817.

SONNET.*

ON LEIGH HUNT'S POEM "THE STORY OF RIMINI.”

Who to Phut eyes and comfortable cheek,

HO loves to peer up at the morning sun,

Let him, with this sweet tale, full often seek
For meadows where the little rivers run;
Who loves to linger with that brightest one
Of Heaven- Hesperus let him lowly speak
These numbers to the night, and starlight meek,
Or moon, if that her hunting be begun.
He who knows these delights, and too is prone
To moralize upon a smile or tear,

Will find at once a region of his own,

A bower for his spirit, and will steer

To alleys where the fir-tree drops its cone,
Where robins hop, and fallen leaves are sear.

FRAGMENT.†

THERE'S the Poet? show him! show him,

WHERE's time that I may know him!

'Tis the man who with a man

Is an equal, be he King,

Or poorest of the beggar-clan,

Or any other wondrous thing

A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren, or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell

Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue.

*Given in the Literary Remains next to the preceding, and dated 1817.

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10

15

+ This is one of a group of undated fragments given at the end of Volume I of

the Life, Letters &c. (1848).

A

FRAGMENT: MODERN LOVE.*

ND what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on

Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a pearl tiara,

And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,

And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.

Fools! if some passions high have warm'd the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play'd deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies

Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say

That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.

5

ΙΟ

15

FRAGMENT OF "THE CASTLE BUILDER." †

-NIGHT I'll have my friar — let me think

T-Not my room, I'll have it in the pink;

About

It should be rich and sombre, and the moon,
Just in its mid-life in the midst of June,

Should look thro' four large windows and display
Clear, but for gold-fish vases in the way,
Their glassy diamonding on Turkish floor;

The tapers keep aside, an hour and more,

5

To see what else the moon alone can show;

While the night-breeze doth softly let us know
My terrace is well bower'd with oranges.
Upon the floor the dullest spirit sees

ΤΟ

Modern Love follows "Where's the Poet?" in the group of undated fragments

at the end of Volume I of the Life, Letters &c.

↑ This follows the preceding fragment in the first volume of the Life, Letters &c

A guitar-ribband and a lady's glove

Beside a crumple-leaved tale of love;

A tambour-frame, with Venus sleeping there,
All finish'd but some ringlets of her hair;
A viol, bow-strings torn, cross-wise upon
A glorious folio of Anacreon;

A skull upon a mat of roses lying,

Ink'd purple with a song concerning dying;
An hour-glass on the turn, amid the trails
Of passion-flower; - just in time there sails
A cloud across the moon, — the lights bring in!
And see what more my phantasy can win.
It is a gorgeous room, but somewhat sad;
The draperies are so, as tho' they had
Been made for Cleopatra's winding-sheet;
And opposite the stedfast eye doth meet
A spacious looking-glass, upon whose face,
In letters raven-sombre, you may trace
Old Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin."
Greek busts and statuary have ever been
Held, by the finest spirits, fitter far
Than vase grotesque and Siamesian jar;
Therefore 'tis sure a want of Attic taste
That I should rather love a Gothic waste

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20

25

30

35

Of eyesight on cinque-coloured potter's clay,

Than on the marble fairness of old Greece.

My table-coverlits of Jason's fleece

And black Numidian sheep-wool should be wrought,

40

Gold, black, and heavy, from the Lama brought.

My ebon sofas should delicious be

With down from Leda's cygnet progeny.
My pictures all Salvator's, save a few

Of Titian's portraiture, and one, though new,
Of Haydon's in its fresh magnificence.
My wine-O good! 'tis here at my desire,
And I must sit to supper with my friar.

45

Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;

Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;

Cleopatra regal-dress'd

With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale;
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night
Both together:

- let me slake

All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,

Interwreath'd with myrtles new;

Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.

This is the fourth of the undated fragments at the end of Volume I of the Life.