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And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.
Soon they awoke clear-eyed: nor burn'd with

Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:
And springing up, they met the wondering sight
Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;
Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss, and stare,
And on their placid foreheads part the hair.
Young men and maidens at each other gazed,
With hands held back, and motionless, amazed
To see the brightness in each other's eyes;
And so they stood, fill'd with a sweet surprise,
Until their tongues were loosed in poesy.
Therefore no lover did of anguish die :

But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses
That follow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's kisses:
Was there a poet born?-But now no more—
My wandering spirit must no farther soar.


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What is more soothing than the pretty

That stays one moment in an open flower,

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1 "It was in the library of Hunt's cottage," writes Mr. Cowden Clarke, "where an extemporary bed had been made up for Keats on the sofa, that he composed the framework and many lines of this poem, the last sixty or seventy being an inventory of the artgarniture of the room."

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!~/de// And buzzes checrily from bower to bower?

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What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men's knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales ?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia's countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee, Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!

/////Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
//Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!

Most happy listener! when the morning blesses //Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.

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But what is higher beyond thought than thee?
Fresher than berries of a mountain-tree ?
More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more


Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen


What is it? And to what shall I compare it?
It has a glory, and nought else can share it :
The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,
Chasing away all worldliness and folly :
Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder
Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;
And sometimes like a gentle whispering
Of all the secrets of some wondrous thing
That breathes about us in the vacant air;
So that we look around with prying stare,
Perhaps to see shapes of light, aërial limning;
And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard

To see the laurel-wreath, on high suspended,
That is to crown our name when life is ended.

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And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice!

Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,
And die away in ardent mutterings.

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No one who once the glorious sun has seen,

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And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean.
For his great Maker's presence, but must know

What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow :
Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,

By telling what he sees from native merit.

470 Poesy! for thee I hold my pen

That am not yet a glorious dénizen

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Of thy wide heaven-should I rather kneel
Upon some mountain-top until I feel

5 A glowing splendour round about me hung,

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And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?!

O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen,

That am not yet a glorious denizen

Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer,

Vield from thy sanctuary some dear air,


Smoothed for intoxication by the breath ///////

Of flowering bays, that I may die a death
Of luxury, and my young spirit follow
The morning sunbeams to the great Apollo,
Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear

The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring me to the fair
Visious of all places: a bowery nook

Will be elysium—an

eternal book

Whence I may copy many a lovely saying

About the leaves, and flowers-about the playing 67 Of nymphs in woods and fountains; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid; And many a verse from so strange influence That we must ever wonder how, and whence 7. It came. Also imaginings will hover

Round my fire-side, and haply there discover



Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander
happy silence, like the clear Meander

Through its lone vales; and where I found a spots
Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot, 76
Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd dress 77
Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,
Write on my tablets all that was permitted,
All that was for our human senses fitted.
Then the events of this wide world I'd seize
Like a strong giant, and my spirit tease, $2
Till at its shoulders it should proudly see?f
Wings to find out an immortality.



Stop and consider! life is but a day 5
A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way s
From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep
While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep
Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?
Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;
The reading of an ever-changing tale;
The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;
A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;
A laughing school-boy, without grief or care,
Riding the springy branches of an elm...

Hersic notion

O for ten years, that I may overwhelın
Myself in poesy so I may do the deed - /
That my own soul has to itself decreed. "
Then I will pass the countries that I see 77
In long perspective, and continually
Taste their


pure fountains. First the realm I'll

Of Flora, and old Pan, sleep in the grass,
Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,
And choose each pleasure that my fancy gees;
Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places.
To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,-

Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white? Into a pretty shrinking with a bite


As hard as lips can make it; till agreed,"
A lovely tale of human life we'll read. 200
And ope will teach a tame dove how it best f
May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; 2
Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,
Will set a green robe floating round her head,
And still will dance with ever-varied ease,
Smiling upon the flowers and the trees;
Another will entice me on, and on,

Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;
Till in the bosom of a leafy world


We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd f
In the recesses of a pearly shell.

And can I ever bid these joys farewell? /
Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,
Where I may find the agonies, the strife
Of human hearts: for Io! I see afar,
O'er-sailing the blue cragginess, a car

And steeds with streamy manes-the charioteer
Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear;
And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly
Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly
Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,
Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes.
Still downward with capacious whirl they glide ;
And now I see them on a green-hill side
In breezy rest among the nodding stalks.
The charioteer with wondrous gesture talks
To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear
Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,
Passing along before a dusky space

Made by some mighty oaks as they would chase
Some ever-fleeting music, on they sweep.

Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep:

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