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So, purposing each moment to retire, She lingered still, Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth such things have been. -John Keats (1795-1821), The Eve of St. Agnes |