written in keats’ “endymion.”
i saw pale dian, sitting by the brink
of silver falls, the overflow of fountains
from cloudy steeps; and i grew sad to think
endymion’s foot was silent on those mountains.
and he but a hush’d name, that silence keeps
in dear remembrance — lonely, and forlorn,
singing it to herself until she weeps
tears, that perchance still glisten in the morn:—
and as i mused, in dull imaginings,
there came a flash of garments, and i knew
the awful muse by her harmonious wings
charming the air to music as she flew —
anon there rose an echo through the vale
gave back enydmion in a dreamlike tale.
