Selected Poems and Letters. John Keats

and yet so unseen

      She stood: he pass’d, shut up in mysteries,

      His mind wrapp’d like his mantle, while her eyes

      Follow’d his steps, and her neck regal white

      Turn’d – syllabling thus, “Ah, Lycius bright,

      And will you leave me on the hills alone?

      Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown.”

      He did; not with cold wonder fearingly,

      But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;

      For so delicious were the words she sung,

      It seem’d he had lov’d them a whole summer long:

      And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,

      Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,

      And still the cup was full, – while he, afraid

      Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid

      Due adoration, thus began to adore;

      Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure:

      “Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see

      Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!

      For pity do not this sad heart belie –

      Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.

      Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!

      To thy far wishes will thy streams obey:

      Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain,

      Alone they can drink up the morning rain:

      Though a descended Pleiad, will not one

      Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune

      Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine?

      So sweetly to these ravish’d ears of mine

      Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade

      Thy memory will waste me to a shade: –

      For pity do not melt!” – “If I should stay,”

      Said Lamia, “here, upon this floor of clay,

      And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough,

      What canst thou say or do of charm enough

      To dull the nice remembrance of my home?

      Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam

      Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, –

      Empty of immortality and bliss!

      Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know

      That finer spirits cannot breathe below

      In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth,

      What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe

      My essence? What serener palaces,

      Where I may all my many senses please,

      And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?

      It cannot be – Adieu!” So said, she rose

      Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose

      The amorous promise of her lone complain,

      Swoon’d, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.

      The cruel lady, without any show

      Of sorrow for her tender favourite’s woe,

      But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,

      With brighter eyes and slow amenity,

      Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh

      The life she had so tangled in her mesh:

      And as he from one trance was wakening

      Into another, she began to sing,

      Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,

      A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,

      While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires.

      And then she whisper’d in such trembling tone,

      As those who, safe together met alone

      For the first time through many anguish’d days,

      Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise

      His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,

      For that she was a woman, and without

      Any more subtle fluid in her veins

      Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains

      Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.

      And next she wonder’d how his eyes could miss

      Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,

      She dwelt but half retir’d, and there had led

      Days happy as the gold coin could invent

      Without the aid of love; yet in content

      Till she saw him, as once she pass’d him by,

      Where ’gainst a column he leant thoughtfully

      At Venus’ temple porch, ’mid baskets heap’d

      Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap’d

      Late on that eve, as ’twas the night before

      The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,

      But wept alone those days, for why should she adore?

      Lycius from death awoke into amaze,

      To see her still, and singing so sweet lays;

      Then from amaze into delight he fell

      To hear her whisper woman’s lore so well;

      And every word she spake entic’d him on

      To unperplex’d delight and pleasure known.

      Let the mad poets say whate’er they please

      Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,

      There is not such a treat among them all,

      Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,

      As a real woman, lineal indeed

      From Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed.

      Thus gentle Lamia judg’d, and judg’d aright,

      That Lycius could not love in half a fright,

      So threw the goddess off, and won his heart

      More pleasantly by playing woman’s part,

      With no more awe than what her beauty gave,

      That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.

      Lycius to all made eloquent reply,

      Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;

      And last, pointing to Corinth, ask’d her sweet,

      If ’twas too far that night for her soft feet.

      The way was short, for Lamia’s eagerness

      Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease

      To a few paces; not at all surmised

      By