John Keats,
The Eve of St. Agnes
(1820)
“ XXXVII. ’Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: “This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!” ’Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: “No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! “Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.—- “Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? “I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, “Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;—-“A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.”XXXVIII. “My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! “Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? “Thy beauty’s shield, heart-shap’d and vermeil dyed? ”
