Page:Keats, poems published in 1820 (Robertson, 1909).djvu/83

XII.

Were they unhappy then?—It cannot be—

⁠Too many tears for lovers have been shed,90
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
⁠Too much of pity after they are dead,
Too many doleful stories do we see,
⁠Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
Over the pathless waves towards him bows.

XIII.

But, for the general award of love,

⁠The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;
Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
⁠And Isabella's was a great distress,100
Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
⁠Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less—
Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.