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John Milton

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 15

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome him to this his new abode,

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XXV.

9 lines
John Keats·1795–1821·Romanticism
ull on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 220And on her silver cross soft amethyst,And on her hair a glory, like a saint:She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint:She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.