Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:230 Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
XXVII
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,235 In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;240 Clasp'd like a missal[167] where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
XXVIII
Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,245 And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breathed himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,250 And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!—how fast she slept.
XXIX
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon255 A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:— O for some drowsy Morphean[168] amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—260 The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
XXX
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,[169] In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;265 With jellies soother[170] than the creamy curd, And lucent[171] syrops, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.270
XXXI