Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
XXVI. Melancholy
Paolo and Francesca
By John Keats (1795–1821)
 
AS Hermes once took to his feathers light,
  When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon’d and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
  So play’d, so charm’d, so conquer’d, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;        5
  And, seeing it asleep, so fled away—
Not to pure Ida with the snow-cold skies,
  Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev’d a day;
But to that second circle of sad hell,
  Where ’mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw        10
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
  Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kiss’d, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
 
 
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