Of those same fragrant exhalations bred, And Phoebe bends towards him crescented. Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion. way Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well a day! grew Awhile forgetful of all beauty save 450 Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breathe This murky phantasm! thou contented seem'st Pillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'st What horrors may discomfort thee and me. 469 Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart- I do, I do. What is this soul then? Came it? It does not seem my own, and I Have no self-passion or identity. Some fearful end must be: where, where is it? By Nemesis, I see my spirit flit 479 Alone about the dark - Forgive me, sweet: Shall we away?' He roused the steeds; they beat Their wings chivalrous into the clear air, Young Phoebe's, golden-hair'd; and so 'gan Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair. Search my most hidden breast! By truth's Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof, own tongue, I have no dædale heart; why is it wrung 459 To desperation? Is there nought for me, Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?' These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses: Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blesses With 'haviour soft. Sleep yawn'd from underneath. 490 So witless of their doom, that verily 'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see; Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or grieved or toy'd Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd. Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak, The moon put forth a little diamond peak, At random flies; they are the proper home Sleep may be had in that deep den of all. There anguish does not sting, nor pleasure pall; Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate, won. Just when the sufferer begins to burn, Then it is free to him; and from an urn, Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught Young Semele such richness never quaff'd In her maternal longing. Happy gloom! Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloom Of health by due; where silence dreariest Is most articulate; where hopes infest; 540 Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep. O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul! Pregnant with such a den to save the whole In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian! For, never since thy griefs and woes began, Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud Hath led thee to this Cave of Quietude. Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborne With dangerous speed: and so he did not all good See, through the trees, a little river go 680 All in its mid-day gold and glimmering. Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring, And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee, Cresses that grow where no man may them see, And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag: roam, When it shall please thee in our quiet home To listen and think of love. Still let me speak; Still let me dive into the joy I seek, - 690 For yet the past doth prison me. The rill, Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fill With fairy fishes from the mountain tarn, And thou shalt feed them from the squir rel's barn. Its bottom will I strew with amber shells, And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells. Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine, And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine. face. We'll talk about -no more of dreaming. I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire; 700 |