Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/399

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
OTHO THE GREAT.
383
 Albert! he cannot stickle, chew the cudIn such a fine extreme,—impossible![Goes to the door, listens, and opens it. Who knocks?Enter Albert.Albert, I have been waiting for you hereWith such an aching heart, such swooning throbsOn my poor brain, such cruel—cruel sorrow,That I should claim your pity! Art not well?
 Albert. Yes, lady, well.
 Auranthe.You look not so, alas!But pale, as if you brought some heavy news.
 Albert. You know full well what makes me look so pale.
 Auranthe. No! Do I? Surely I am still to learnSome horror; all I know, this present, isI am near hustled to a dangerous gulph,Which you can save me from,—and therefore safe,So trusting in thy love; that should not makeThee pale, my Albert.
 Albert. It doth make me freeze.
 Auranthe. Why should it, love?
 Albert.You should not ask me that,But make your own heart monitor, and saveMe the great pain of telling. You must know.
 Auranthe. Something has vext you, Albert. There are timesWhen simplest things put on a sombre cast;A melancholy mood will haunt a man,Until most easy matters take the shape
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.