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Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay
A grave among the eternal.--Come away!
He lies as if in dewy sleep he lay. Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.
He will awake no more, oh never more!
Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door
Invisible Corruption waits to trace
His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface
The passion-winged ministers of thought,
Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught
The love which was its music, wander notWander no more from kindling brain to brain,
But droop there whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold hearth where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength or find a home again.
. x... And one with trembling hand clasps his cold head,
And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, “Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead !
See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,
Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies
Lost angel of a ruined paradise!
Washed his light limbs, as if embalming them;
The wreath upon him, like an anadem
Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem
XII. Another Splendour on his mouth alit,
That mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,
And pass into the panting heart beneath
With lightning and with music : the damp death
And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath
XIII. And others came, Desires and Adorations, V his
Winged Persuasions, and veiled Destinies, Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering incarnations
Of Hopes and Fears, and twilight Fantasies.
And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,
Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,
From shape and hue and odour and sweet sound,
Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,
Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,
Afar the melancholy Thunder moaned,
. xv. Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains,
Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray,
Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear
Than those for whose disdain she pined away Into a shadow of all sounds :-a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.
XVI. Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down
Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown,
For whom should she have waked the sullen Year?
To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear,
Thou, Adonais ; wan they stand and sere
Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain ;
Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain
Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest,
As Albion wails for thee : the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest !
But grief returns with the revolving year.
The ants, the bees, the swallows, re-appear;
Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier ; The amorous birds now pair in every brake,
And build their mossy homes in field and brere;
XIX. Through wood and stream and field and hill and ocean,
A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst, As it has ever done, with change and motion,
From the great morning of the world when first God dawned on chaos. In its steam immersed, The lamps of heaven flash with a softer light;
All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst, Diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.
xx. The leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender,
Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour
Is changed to fragrance, they illumine death,
And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath.
Be as a sword consumed before the sheath
But for our grief, as if it had not been,
The actors or spectators ? Great and mean
As long as skies are blue and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.
He will awake no more, oh never more !
“Wake thou,” cried Misery, “childless Mother! Rise Out of thy sleep, and slake in thy heart's core
A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs.”
And all the Dreams that watched Urania's eyes,
Had held in holy silence, cried “Arise !”
Out of the east, and follows wild and drear
Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,
Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear So struck, so roused, so rapt, Urania;
So saddened round her like an atmosphere Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way, Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.
xxiv. Out of her secret paradise she sped,
Through camps and cities rough with stone and steel And human hearts, which, to her aery tread
Yielding not, wounded the invisible
Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell.
Rent the soft form they never could repel,
Shamed by the presence of that living might,
Revisited those lips, and life's pale light
Flashed through those limbs so late her dear delight. “Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,
As silent lightning leaves the starless night! Leave me not !" cried Urania. Her distress Roused Death : Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress.
XXVI. “Stay yet awhile ! speak to me once again!
Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live!
That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,
Of thee, my Adonais ! I would give