The face of Poesy: from off her throne She overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.

The very sense of where I was might well Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there

came

Thought after thought to nourish up the flame

Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold Some tale of love and arms in time of old.

But there are times, when those that love the bay,

20

light

Written according to George Keats at Margate, August, 1816, and included in the 1817 volume.

FULL many a dreary hour have I past,
My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast
With heaviness; in seasons when I've
thought

No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught

From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze

On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;

Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely, Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:

That I should never hear Apollo's song, Though feathery clouds were floating all along

10

The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,

The golden lyre itself were dimly seen: That the still murmur of the honey bee Would never teach a rural song to me: That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting

Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,

It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it,

(For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,) That when a Poet is in such a trance, In air he sees white coursers paw and prance,

Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel, Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel; And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call,

Is the swift opening of their wide portal, 30 When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear,

Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear.

When these enchanted portals open wide, And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide,

The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls,
And view the glory of their festivals:
Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem
Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream;
Their rich brimm'd goblets, that incessant

Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin, 50 When he upswimmeth from the coral caves, And sports with half his tail above the

waves.

These wonders strange he sees, and many more,

Gay villagers, upon a morn of May, When they have tired their gentle limbs with play,

And form'd a snowy circle on the grass, And plac'd in midst of all that lovely lass Who chosen is their queen, with her fine

head

Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:

ing,

89

80

Lays have I left of such a dear delight That maids will sing them on their bridal night.

For tasting joys like these, sure I should be Happier, and dearer to society.

At times, 't is true, I've felt relief from pain

7

MANY the wonders I this day have seen: The sun, when first he kist away the tears That fill'd the eyes of morn; - the laurell'd peers

There is no clue to the identity of the person addressed and no date is affixed. It was published in the 1817 volume, and there follows the one addressed to his brother George.

HAD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory. shell

Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise: But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies; No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; I am no happy shepherd of the dell Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's

eyes.

With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests,

And th' half-seen mossiness of linnets' nests.

Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,

When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye,
And his tremendous hand is grasping it,
And his dark brow for very wrath is knit?
Or when his spirit, with more calm intent,
Leaps to the honours of a tournament,
And makes the gazers round about the
ring

Stare at the grandeur of the balancing? 30
No, no! this is far off: - then how shall I
Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy,
Which linger yet about long gothic arches,
In dark green ivy, and among wild larches?
How sing the splendour of the revelries,
When butts of wine are drunk off to the
lees?

And that bright lance, against the fretted wall,

Beneath the shade of stately banneral, Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield?

Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. 40 Light-footed damsels move with gentle

The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers;

Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.

CALIDORE

A FRAGMENT

YOUNG Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;
His healthful spirit eager and awake
To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
Which seem'd full loth this happy world to
leave;

shore

ingly.

He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, And smiles at the far clearness all around, Until his heart is well nigh over wound,

The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn, Stands venerably proud; too proud to

mourn