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Poems Of John Keats: Eve Of St. Agnes, The

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From: Great Works of Literature
Date: 19920101
Author:Keats, John

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Eve Of St. Agnes, The

St. Agnes' Eve! - Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a - cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgini's picture, while his prayer he saith.

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along ...

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