Page:Keats, poems published in 1820 (Robertson, 1909).djvu/92

XXX.

She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;

⁠Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O misery!
⁠She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
⁠And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,239
And on her couch low murmuring "Where? O where?"

XXXI.

But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long

⁠Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
⁠Upon the time with feverish unrest—
Not long—for soon into her heart a throng
⁠Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.