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Till the thunder was mute,
Why was not I crush'd such a pitiful germ?
The Pleiades were up,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
NFELT, unheard, unseen,
Her languid arms in silver slumber ly-
Ah! through their nestling touch,
There is for madness cruel, or complying?
Those faery lids how sleek!
Those lips how moist! - they speak,
In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:
Into my fancy's ear
Melting a burden dear,
How "Love doth know no fulness, and no bounds."
This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
I'll feel my heaven anew,
For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
USH, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear!
Tho you've padded his night-cap- O sweet
Tho' your feet are more light than a Faery's feet,
Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet,Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear! For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.
No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there
On the river, — all's still, and the night's sleepy eye Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care,
Charm'd to death by the drone of the humming
And the moon, whether prudish or complaisant, Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom, But my Isabel's eyes, and her lips pulp'd with bloom.
Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly
We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink!
now those lips, and a flowery seat
The old man may sleep, and the planets may
The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake
Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning take,
The stock-dove shall hatch his soft twin-eggs and coo, While I kiss to the melody, aching all through !
HED no tear! O shed no tear!
Overhead! look overhead!
Adieu, Adieu !
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms !
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
I met a lady in the meads,
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
She found me roots of relish sweet,
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep,
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried -"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,