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The eve of st agnes by john keats (pdf) - dublin city gallery ...

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The eve of st. agnes. by john keats. st. agnes' eve—ah, bitter chill it was! the owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;. the hare limp'd trembling through ...
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The Eve of St. AgnesBY JOHN KEATSSt. 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 toldHis 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 Virgin'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 the chapel aisle by slow degrees:The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,He passeth by; and his weak spirit failsTo think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.Northward he turneth through a little door,And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongueFlatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;But no—already had his deathbell r...
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