Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails. Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. A casement high and triple-arched there was, Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away: Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray; And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth and lavendered, Manna and dates, in argosy transferred She hurried at his words, beset with fear, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spear; Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. They glide like phantoms into the wide hall; With a huge empty flagon by his side; The wakeful bloodhound rose and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns; By one and one the bolts full easy slide; A FROM ENDYMION> THING of beauty is a joy for ever; Its loveliness increases: it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. A flowery band to bind us to the earth, |