6

I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long
For sidelong would she bend and sing
A faery's song-

7

She found me roots of relish sweet
And honey wild and manna dew
And sure in language strange she said
I love thee true-

8

She took me to her elfin grot

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four.

9

And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dream'd Ah Woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill side

10

I saw pale Kings, and Princes too
Pale warriors death pale were they all
They cried La belle dame sans merci
Thee hath in thrall.

11

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill's side

12

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering;

Though the sedge is withered from the Lake
And no birds sing-

6

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

7

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

8

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes-
So kiss'd to sleep.

9

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.

10

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cried-"La belle Dame sans mercy Hath thee in thrall!"

11

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.

12

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

ODES

FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO MAIA, MAY, 1818

M

OTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
May I sing to thee

As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiæ ?
Or may I woo thee

In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles

Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
By bards who died content on pleasant sward,
Leaving great verse unto a little clan?

O, give me their old vigour, and unheard
Save of the quiet primrose, and the span
Of heaven and few ears,

Rounded by thee, my song should die away
Content as theirs,

Rich in the simple worship of a day.

ON INDOLENCE

"They toil not, neither do they spin."

1

NE morn before me were three figures seen,

With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced; And one behind the other stepp'd serene,

In placid sandals, and in white robes graced; They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn, When shifted round to see the other side; They came again; as when the urn once more

Is shifted round, the first seen shades return; And they were strange to me, as may betide With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

2

How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
How came ye muffled in so hush a mask?
Was it a silent deep-disguised plot

To steal away, and leave without a task

My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;

The blissful cloud of summer-indolence

Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less ;

Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower: O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense Unhaunted quite of all but-nothingness?

3

A third time pass'd; they by, and, passing, turn'd
Each one the face a moment whiles to me;

Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd

And ached for wings, because I knew the three;
The first was a fair Maid, and Love her name;
The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,

And ever watchful with fatigued eye;

The last, whom I love more, the more of blame Is heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek,

I knew to be my demon Poesy.

4

They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
O folly! What is Love? and where is it?
And for that poor Ambition! it springs
From a man's little heart's short fever-fit;

For Poesy!-no,-she has not a joy,-
At least for me, so sweet as drowsy noons,
And evenings steep'd in honied indolence;
O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy,
That I may never know how change the moons,
Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!

5

And once more came they by ;-alas! wherefore?
My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams :
The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
The open casement press'd a new-leaved vine,
Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;
O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell!
Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

6

So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!

Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more
In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,

And for the day faint visions there is store; Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright, Into the clouds, and never more return!