The Hundred Best English Poems Part 11

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

3.

She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

44. _La Belle Dame sans Merci._

1.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering; The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

2.

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

The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done.

3.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

4.

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.

5.

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.

6.

I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.

7.

She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said, I love thee true.

8.

She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- So kiss'd to sleep.

9.

And there we slumber'd on the moss, And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill-side.

10.

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

11.

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill-side.

12.

And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

45. _Sonnet._

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the sh.o.r.e Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

_Buxton Forman's Text._

CHARLES LAMB.

46. _The Old Familiar Faces._

Where are they gone, the old familiar faces?

I had a mother, but she died, and left me, Died prematurely in a day of horrors-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I lov'd a love once, fairest among women; Clos'd are her doors on me, I must not see her-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man.

Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.

Ghost-like, I pac'd round the haunts of my childhood.

Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother!

Why were not thou born in my father's dwelling?

So might we talk of the old familiar faces.

For some they have died, and some they have left me, _And some are taken from me_; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

_1798 Edition._