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THESE poems are taken from an album of copies from Keats's Poems by Richard Woodhouse. They were printed in "The Times" Literary Supplement of the 17th of April, 1914, and are included in this edition by the courtesy of the Marquess of Crewe, the owner of the Woodhouse album.
APOLLO TO THE GRACES.
Written to the tune of the air in "Don Giovanni."
HICH of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me?
My steeds are all pawing at the threshold of morn:
Which of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me
Across the gold Autumn's whole Kingdom of corn?
The Graces all answer
I will, I—I—I—
O young Apollo let me fly along with thee
The many many wonders see
And thy lyre shall never have a slackened string
I, I, I, I,
Thro' the golden day will sing.
YOU SAY YOU LOVE.
OU say you love; but with a voice
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth-
You say you love; but with a smile
You say you love, but then your lips
More than coral in the sea
They never pout for kisses—
You say you love; but then your hand
While mine to passion burneth-
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn me,
Squeeze as lovers should-O kiss
And in thy heart inurn me!
O love me truly!
N short, convince you that however wise
I have, by many yards at least, been
A longer skein of wit in Convent garden.
A very Eden that same place must be!
Pray what demesne? Whose Lordship's legacy?
Sir, Convent Garden is a monstrous beast,
And then, from 12 till two, this Eden made is
In such like nonsense would I pass an hour
Who came unmaimed from the Russian frost.
THESE two sonnets were written by Keats on the page immediately preceding the Sonnets in a copy of the 1817 edition of his poems, published by C. and J. Ollier. They were printed in "The Times" Literary Supplement of the 21st of May, 1914, and are included in this edition by the courtesy of Dr. E. Horner, the owner of the volume.
ON RECEIVING A LAUREL CROWN
INUTES are flying swiftly, and as yet Nothing unearthly has enticed my brain
Into a delphic labyrinth-I would
Catch an immortal thought to pay the debt
Upon my ambitious head a glorious gain.
To be conscious of such a coronet.
Still time is fleeting, and no dream arises
Gorgeous as I would have it—only I see
And then I run into most wild surmises
Of all the many glories that may be.
TO THE LADIES WHO SAW ME CROWN'D.
HAT is there in the universal earth
More lovely than a wreath from the bay tree?
Haply a halo round the moon-a glee Circling from three sweet pair of lips in mirth; And haply you will say the dewy birth
Of morning roses-riplings tenderly
Spread by the halcyon's breast upon the seaBut these comparisons are nothing worth. Then is there nothing in the world so fair?
The silvery tears of April? Youth of May? Or June that breathes out life for butterflies? No-none of these can from my favorite bear Away the palm-yet shall it ever pay
Due reverence to your most sovereign eyes.
CHISWICK PRESS: PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.