Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; taint. 225 Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, 234 Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, 243 Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, 252 261 In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 66 And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon; From Fez; and spicèd dainties, every one, These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand Filling the chilly room with perfume light.— Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm charm Impossible to melt as icèd stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam: tasies. 279 288 Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,- mercy: " Close to her ear touching the melody;Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly Her blue affrayèd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculp tured stone. 297 Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, And moan forth witless words with many a While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joinèd hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear; How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where 306 to go." 315 Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far Solution sweet: meantime the frost wind blows hath set. "This is no 324 Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: dream, my bride, my Madeline!" 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.— Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunèd wing." 333 "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 342 |