Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim.

KEATS.

THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF;

OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOR.

A VISION.

In that sweet season, as in bed I lay, And sought in sleep to pass the night away, I turned my weary side, but still in vain, Though full of youthful health, and void of pain: Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest,

For love had never entered in my breast;

I wanted nothing fortune could supply,

Nor did she slumber till that hour deny.

I wondered then, but after found it true,
Much joy had dried away the balmy dew:
Seas would be pools, without the brushing air,
To curl the waves; and sure some little care
Should weary nature so, to make her want repair.
When Chanticleer the second watch had sung,
Scorning the scorner sleep, from bed I sprung;
And dressing, by the moon, in loose array,
Passed out in open air, preventing day,

And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way.
Straight as a line in beauteous order stood

Of oaks unshorn a venerable wood;

Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree,
At distance planted in a due degree,

Their branching arms in air with equal space
Stretched to their neighbors with a long embrace:
And the new leaves on every bough were seen,
Some ruddy colored, some of lighter green.
The painted birds, companions of the spring,
Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing.
Both eyes and ears received a like delight,
Enchanting music, and a charming sight.
On Philomel I fixed my whole desire;

And listened for the queen of all the quire;

Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing;
And wanted yet an omen to the spring.

Attending long in vain, I took the way,
Which through a path, but scarcely printed, lay;
In narrow mazes oft it seemed to meet,
And looked as lightly pressed by fairy feet.
Wand'ring I walked alone, for still methought

To some strange end so strange a path was wrought: At last it led me where an arbor stood,

The sacred receptacle of the wood:

This place unmarked, though oft I walked the green, In all my progress I had never seen:

And seized at once with wonder and delight,

Gazed all around me, new to the transporting sight.
'Twas benched with turf, and goodly to be seen,
The thick young grass arose in fresher green:
The mound was newly made, no sight could pass
Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass;
The well-united sods so closely lay,

And all around the shades defended it from day,
For sycamores with eglantine were spread,
A hedge about the sides, a covering over head.
And so the fragrant brier was wove between,

The

sycamore and flowers were mixed with green,