Keats Poems Published in 1820

Couverture
Henry Frowde, 1909 - 199 pages
 

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Page 95 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, . And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint; She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Page 98 - And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.
Page 114 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. Though winning near the goal — yet do not grieve: She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss; For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love!
Page 130 - Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame ; What doth strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth...
Page 110 - Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath...
Page 83 - ST. AGNES' EVE— Ah, bitter chill it was ! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold...
Page 93 - For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while: Ah ! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.
Page 89 - He had a fever late, and in the fit 'He cursed thee and thine, both house and land : 'Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit 'More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me! flit! 'Flit like a ghost away.
Page 131 - I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away Nobody knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story — Said he saw you in your glory Underneath a...
Page 108 - Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm south, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.

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