The eve of StAgnes . delicates he heapd with glowing handOn golden dishes and in baskets brightOf wreathed sih-er: sumptuous they standIn the retired quiet of the night,Filling the chilly room with perfume light. — And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake !Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:Open thine e}-es, for meek St. Agnes sake,Or I shall drowse beside thee, so mj soul doth ache. whispering, his warm, unnerved armSank in her pillow. Shaded was her dreamBy the dusk curtains;—twas a midnight charmImpossible to melt as iced lustrous salvers in the moonligh

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The eve of StAgnes . delicates he heapd with glowing handOn golden dishes and in baskets brightOf wreathed sih-er: sumptuous they standIn the retired quiet of the night,Filling the chilly room with perfume light. — And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake !Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:Open thine e}-es, for meek St. Agnes sake,Or I shall drowse beside thee, so mj soul doth ache. whispering, his warm, unnerved armSank in her pillow. Shaded was her dreamBy the dusk curtains;—twas a midnight charmImpossible to melt as iced lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;Broad golden fringe upon the carpet seemd he never, never could redeemFrom such a steadfast spell his ladys eyes:So mused awhile, entoild in woofed phantasies. XXXIII. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, —Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be,He pla\-d an ancient ditty, long since mute,In Provence calld La belle dame sans mercy,Close to her ear touching the melody;Wherewith disturbd,

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1885