LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. V. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. VI. I set her on my pacing steed, VII. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said, "I love thee true." VIII. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighed full sore; And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. IX. And there she lulled me asleep; And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill's side. BABY'S SHOES. X. 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!" XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, On the cold hill's side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing. BABY'S SHOES. O THOSE little, those little blue shoes, O the price were high That those shoes would buy, Those little blue unused shoes! JOHN KEATS. BABY'S SHOES. For they hold the small shape of feet Years since, grew still, And ceased from their totter so sweet. And O, since that baby slept, So hushed, how the mother has kept, That little dear treasure, And o'er them thought and wept ! For they mind her for evermore Of a patter along the floor; Look up from her knees, With the look that in life they wore. As they lie before her there, There babbles from chair to chair A little sweet face That's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair. Then O, wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part Than those tiny blue shoes That no little feet use, And whose sight makes such fond tears start! WILLIAM C. BENNETT. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Look at her garments Touch her not scornfully! Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Her fair auburn tresses, Where was her home? |