BARDS OF PASSION AND OF
MIRTH

BARDS of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new?

Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wond'rous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease
Seated on Elysian lawns
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daisies are rose-scented,

And the rose herself has got

Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing

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Not a senseless, trancèd thing,
But divine melodious truth;
Philosophic numbers smooth;
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.

Thus ye live on high, and then
On the earth ye live again;
And the souls ye left behind you
Teach us, here, the way to find you,
Where your other souls are joying,
Never slumbered, never cloying.
Here, your earth-born souls still speak
To mortals, of their little week;
Of their sorrows and delights;
Of their passions and their spites;
Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim.
Thus ye teach us, every day,
Wisdom, though fled far away.

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Doubled-lived in regions new!

LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN

SOULS of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.

I have heard that on a day
Mine host's sign-board flew away,
Nobody knew whither, till

An astrologer's old quill

To a sheepskin gave the story,
Said he saw you in your glory,
Underneath a new old sign

Sipping beverage divine,

And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac.

Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

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HYPERION

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

AH, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Álone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, 5
So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

I see a lilly on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew; 10 And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a faery's child;

Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song.

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.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;

And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,

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And there she gazed and sighed deep, 30 And there I shut her wild sad eyes

So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,

And there I dreamed, ah woe betide, The latest dream I ever dreamed

On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried -'La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke, and found me here

On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,

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Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

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Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be

Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?'

This passion lifted him upon his feet, 135 And made his hands to struggle in the air, His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,

His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease. He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep;

A little time, and then again he snatched 140 Utterance thus. - 'But cannot I create? Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth Another world, another universe,

To overbear and crumble this to naught? Where is another chaos? Where?' That word

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Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
The rebel three. Thea was startled up,
And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
As thus she quick-voiced spake, yet full of

Or the familiar visiting of one
Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
But horrors, portioned to a giant nerve, 175
Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright
Bastioned with pyramids of glowing gold,
And touched with shade of bronzèd obelisks,
Glared a blood-red through all its thousand
courts,

Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; 180
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flushed angerly: while sometimes eagle's
wings,

Unseen before by Gods or wondering men, Darkened the place; and neighing steeds were heard,

Not heard before by Gods or wondering