"It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame: "All cates and dainties shall be storèd there Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, 175 For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." 180 And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 215 A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings. In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; 240 Clasped like a missal where swart1 Blinded alike from sunshine and from As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced 246 To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breathed himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, 250 And over the hushed carpet, silent, stepped, And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!-how fast she slept. Then by the bedside, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set 1 black. |