written in keats’ “endymion.”

i saw pale dian, sitting by the brink

of silver falls, the overflow of fountains

from cloudy steeps; and i grew sad to think

endymion’s foot was silent on those mountains.

and he but a hush’d name, that silence keeps

in dear remembrance — lonely, and forlorn,

singing it to herself until she weeps

tears, that perchance still glisten in the morn:—

and as i mused, in dull imaginings,

there came a flash of garments, and i knew

the awful muse by her harmonious wings

charming the air to music as she flew —

anon there rose an echo through the vale

gave back enydmion in a dreamlike tale.