John Keats (1795–1821)

COME hither all sweet maidens soberly,

Down-looking aye, and with a chastened light

Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,

And meekly let your fair hands joinèd be,

As if so gentle that ye could not see,

Untouched, a victim of your beauty bright,

Sinking away to his young spirit’s night,

Sinking bewildered ’mid the dreary sea:

’Tis young Leander toiling to his death;

Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips

For Hero’s cheek, and smiles against her smile.

O horrid dream! see how his body dips

Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile:

He’s gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!