These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand
On golden dishes and in baskets bright
Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand
In the retired quiet of the night,
Filling the chilly room with perfume light.?
'And now, my love, my seraph8 fair, awake!
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:9
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,
Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.'
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Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved0 arm unmanned, weak
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream
By the dusk curtains:?'twas a midnight charm
Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers0 in the moonlight gleam; trays
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:
It seem'd he never, never could redeem
From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes;
So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.'
5. Sleep-producing charm. ported in a great merchant ship ('argosy') from 6. High-pitched trumpet. Fez, in Morocco. 7. I.e., jellies softer ('soother') than the curds of 8. One of the highest orders of angels, cream, clear ('lucent') syrups tinged with cinna- 9. Hermit, religious solitary. mon, and sweet gums ('manna') and dates trans- I. Entangled in a weave of fantasies.
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89 6 / JOHN KEATS
3 3 Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,? Tumultuous,?and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, 'La belle dame sans mercy':2 Close to her ear touching the melody;? Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased?she panted quick?and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. 34 Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh? expell'd nearly The blisses of her dream so pure and deep: At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. 35 'Ah, Porphyro!' said she, 'but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go.' , 36 Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet,? Solution0 sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows fusion Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 37 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown0 sleet: gust-blown 'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!' 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: 'No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.? Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
2. 'The Lovely Lady without Pity,' title of a work by the medieval poet Alain Chartier. Keats later adopted the title for his own ballad.
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THE EVE OF ST. AGNES / 897
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;? A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.'
38 'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
335 Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil0 dyed? vermilion Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, A famish'd pilgrim,?saved by miracle.
