Saturday, 10 March 2012

Illustrations of The Eve of St Agnes by E.H. Wehnert

And 'tween the curtains peep'd
On golden dishes and in baskets bright
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth sculptur'd stone
Hark! Tis an elfin storm from faery land
Drown's all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found
These lovers fled away into the storm
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold
The sculptur'd dead on each side seemed to freeze
At length burst in the argent revelry
Her maiden eyes divine, fix'd on the floor
Meantime, across the moors, had come young Porphyro

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