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Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil, Page 10
by John Keats (February—April, 1818).

Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
    With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
From the poor girl by magic of their light,
    The while it did unthread the horrid woof
Of the late darken'd time,—the murderous spite
    Of pride and avarice,—the dark pine roof
In the forest,—and the sodden turfed dell,
Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.

Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
    "Red whortle-berries drop above my head,
"And a large flint stone weighs upon my feet;
    "Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
"Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
    "Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
"Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
"And it shall comfort me within the tomb.

"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
    "Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
"Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
    "While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
"And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
    "And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
"Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
"And thou art distant in Humanity.

"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
    "And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
"Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
    "That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
"A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
    "To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
"Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
"A greater love through all my essence steal."

PAGE 10 OF 16.

• • • • •Dearest Romantic, to read the eleventh page of Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil,
kindly click on the link at the very bottom of this page.
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AUTHOR: John Keats (February—April, 1818).
TITLE OF WEBPAGE: PoeticSpace:Keats:Poems:IsabellaOrThePotOfBasil:Page10
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