John Keats - StaffaJohn Keats - Staffa
Work rating:
Low
Not Aladdin magian
Ever such a work began;
Not the wizard of the Dee
Ever such a dream could see;
Not St. John, in Patmos` Isle,
In the passion of his toil,
When he saw the churches seven,
Golden aisl`d, built up in heaven,
Gaz`d at such a rugged wonder.
As I stood its roofing under
Lo! I saw one sleeping there,
On the marble cold and bare.
While the surges wash`d his feet,
And his garments white did beat.
Drench`d about the sombre rocks,
On his neck his well-grown locks,
Lifted dry above the main,
Were upon the curl again.
"What is this? and what art thou?"
Whisper`d I, and touch`d his brow;
"What art thou? and what is this?"
Whisper`d I, and strove to kiss
The spirit`s hand, to wake his eyes;
Up he started in a trice:
"I am Lycidas," said he,
"Fam`d in funeral minstrely!
This was architectur`d thus
By the great Oceanus!--
Here his mighty waters play
Hollow organs all the day;
Here by turns his dolphins all,
Finny palmers great and small,
Come to pay devotion due--
Each a mouth of pearls must strew.
Many a mortal of these days,
Dares to pass our sacred ways,
Dares to touch audaciously
This Cathedral of the Sea!
I have been the pontiff-priest
Where the waters never rest,
Where a fledgy sea-bird choir
Soars for ever; holy fire
I have hid from mortal man;
Proteus is my Sacristan.
But the dulled eye of mortal
Hath pass`d beyond the rocky portal;
So for ever will I leave
Such a taint, and soon unweave
All the magic of the place."
* * * * * *
So saying, with a Spirit`s glance
He dived!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
