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JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART
That creed I fain would keep,
That hope I'll not forgo—
Eternal be the sleep
Unless to waken so!
��JOHN KEATS 630 Song of the Indian Maid
FROM 'ENDYMION'
I SORROW
Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?
To give maiden blushes
To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
��o
��O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?
To give the glow-worm light?
Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on siren shores, the salt sea-spry?
O Sorrow'
Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?
To give at evening pale
Unto the nightingale, That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
630 sea-spry] sea-spray.
�� �
